


(the heart is a) Weapon

by theleftboobgrabber



Series: (the heart is) [2]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst, Background Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, POV Alec Lightwood, POV Magnus Bane, PTSD, Past Magnus Bane/Camille Belcourt, Romance, Sequel, handler!Magnus, spy!Alec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 99,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9388796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleftboobgrabber/pseuds/theleftboobgrabber
Summary: “You know how the world works, Alec. Your parents and the MI6 taught you and, I must say, you prove yourself to be a redoubtable knife in their arsenal. Sharp and swift, quality that I always admired. But that’s all they asked of you. Knives are just tools, Alec,” he pauses, looks down at his hands, “and tools are useless if they think on their own and question your right to strike. Look at you, you’ve been sent all over the world, killing, spying, stealing. Never they stopped to ask if you were fine. To the point you decided to take a leaf out of Luke’s book and retreat from the world. But that’s only a bandaid on a ruptured artery. The real problem is that the MI6 works us to madness or death."Alec thought that retirement from being one of MI6 top spies was going to be calm anduneventful... Yeah, he was wrong.





	1. The coldest blood runs through my veins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys remember Prague? because it's going to be important
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/) I don't bite unless you ask <3

Alec runs.

Just throws his backpack down and runs back toward the cabin as fast as he can, too terrified to think past Magnus, Magnus, _Magnus_ , thumping heart making it difficult to breath, Magnus, Magnus, terrible visions making it difficult to see… Magnus, Magnus, hope, so little, crazy hope...

Perhaps Magnus finally snapped and made a giant bonfire in the clearing so he could eat s'mores.

Perhaps the generator at the back of the cabin malfunctioned and burned, leaving Magnus panicking but perfectly _safe_.

Perhaps the fire is beyond the cabin. A regular, random forest fire.

Perhaps, perhaps -each and every scenario is worst and more improbable than the last, torturing Alec about what he will find back at the cabin.

The trees thin and Alec stops his mad dash at the last moment and circles the clearing, not daring to enter it from the side any assailant might expect. His training takes over before he can call out for Magnus, desperate for a answer, and he grits his teeth together to keep quiet, to not announce his presence. Hand trembling a little, he reaches to the back of his trousers, where his combat knife is concealed and unsheathes it quickly, gripping it tight.

The last time he held it with intent, Camille Belcourt died and while he doesn’t regret killing her, the knife weighs heavily in his palm. It’s all about muscle memory after that -like the knife triggered it. His breathing evens up naturally, his body relaxes back into a dance he always excelled at performing.

Efficient. In Control. Deadly.

He enters the clearing from the side that faces the back of the cabin, keeping low to the ground and… He doesn’t allow the sight of Luke’s cabin torn by flames and greasy smoke to stop him; dwelling on the destruction of his sanctuary won’t help. The fire is still going strong and Alec can smell the gas and chemicals they -whoever that is- used to start the fire.

_So much for S’mores._

To his right, sprawled on the ground under a camouflage cover, a sniper is pointing straight at the tree line Alec should have logically emerged from if he had listen to his fear and not his guts. The camouflage, thanks God, isn’t perfect and doesn’t hide the sniper entirely from someone coming from behind.

Alec is on him in seconds, breaking his neck quickly. Efficient, silent and deadly. He realizes with a start that he never intended to do that ever again, that he actually believed that violence couldn’t follow him here. It makes him sick to be so wrong, _to be so wronged_.

Searching the body is trying, even if Alec did that countless times before. He takes a radio, a Glock and its ammo but leaves the sniper rifle behind.

The burning cabin, obviously, can’t be searched for a body but Alec refuses to believe that Magnus is dead.

He looks around, couching on the thick and burning smoke. No way that a helicopter landed here, as the grass isn’t flattened and the sniper would have still need to flee once he confirmed his kill. Alec searches the underwood, feverish. The radio stays silent and he doesn’t dare to use it to try to reach anyone who could help on other frequencies. Finally, he finds an off-road motorcycle hidden under a camo canvas -without helmet- and traces of five others bikes, plus a quad, going east.

Time is with him though. They think that he’s in the village, hours away, that they have the advantage and they won’t check on that sniper before a few hours pass.

Alec is extremely happy to have suffered through those wilderness survival classes at the Academy, which included tracking. Following the track left by the kidnappers isn’t that hard as those woods are mostly untouched and their motorcycles and quad left deep gouges in the forest floor.

He follows the trail for about an hour when suddenly he’s thrown off the bike and his head hits the ground with force. He screams in surprise and pain. Dizzy, he tries to sits up but only falls back again, throwing up and nearly choking on his own vomit.

He can barely think or panic when he sees a pair of legs entering his blurry field of vision. A man crouches near him and grips in hair, forcing him to look up.

“So that’s Maryse and Robert’s kid? Uh, doesn’t look like much from this angle,” the man jokes.

Alec is sure he knows that voice but he can’t remember, can’t think, his head is pounding, blood in his eyes and pounding, pounding, in his ears, everywhere under his skin and deep in his bones and the earth seems to shift under him, overpowering nausea hits him so hard he can’t breathe...

“Don’t worry, concussion is a bitch. Just don’t try to think, okay? Not that it’s going to be a problem for you, killing my man like that. What do you think I am, an amateur? All my personnel are tagged and I received a little notification the moment his heart stopped beating,” the man sneers. It sounds like professional assessment, a disappointed teacher shaking his head as a student fails.

People laugh around Alec and the sound is distorted and far away, making his head pulse anew… or that’s the concussion but he can’t see past the blurry face in front of him, can barely hear or concen-

“Mag-Magnus,” he croaks.

“Ah yes. Belcourt told me everything about that little office romance, drove her nuts when they were dating. Adorable. Tell you what, Alec -can I call you Alec?” the man is almost friendly and Alec wants to punch him, but he can’t feel his hands, can hardly move his lips. “I always need competent agent around. Money’s not an issue. So, what about you come with us? Keep Bane honest and… unwilling to pull off an great escape? I’ll even throw in a day off or two for you guys to get cosy. That’s a sweet deal, no?”

“We should just kill him,” someone says.

“Shut up, Sebastian. We wouldn’t need the handler to be _coddled_ if you had kept Belcourt on a tighter leash in Scotland,” the man snaps.

Alec tries to raise his hand, to force the man to release his hair, to… do something.

“Pangborn, you get the privilege of riding with him,” the man orders as he stands up, blurring away from Alec’s sight.

A pair of hands gets hold of him and he’s not strong enough to keep his head straight. The shift makes his entire body scream and he throws up again, incapable of fighting.

“Shit!” someone shouts in his ear, deafening. “Filthy bastard!”

“Now now, go easy on him, poor boy is _concussed._ ”

Alec opens his eyes just in time to see a hooded figure on a quad.

“Ma-ma…” he tries, too sluggish to talk, head pounding and pounding.

“Calling for your mom, Lightwood? Pathetic!” a white haired man screams at his face.

Alec manages to spit on him but the punch he gets in returns makes him regret it immediately. The last thing he hears before blinking into unconsciousness is a muffled scream that sounds a lot like his name.

 

*****

**THEN**

“Didn’t your mother ever make you learn french?” Magnus asked in his ear. “I mean geographically speaking, we do spy on them a lot.”

“Mandarin seemed a smarter choice for the future,” Alec answered under his breath so he wouldn’t be heard by any guards passing on the other side of the door. He was going through a never ending pile of documents to scan. Espionnage at its best, holding a mini camera in the dim light and hoping the Q department wasn’t boasting for nothing about its ability to photograph anything in near darkness.

“Oh yes, _smarter_. I can totally see you blend in anywhere in China. Beware! The most hated spy ever, bet they will never suspect the white-as-snow giant sleuthing around their government buildings or military bases.”

Alec rolled his eyes at the mocking tone his handler had used. Not that he was wrong per say, but seven-year-old boys don’t get a say in the languages they're going to be fluent in (english, mandarin, spanish, farsi, russian and the odd french and japanese learnt on the go). Still, he craved Magnus’ approval and low whistles of awe when Alec managed something impressive or worked a problem quicker than Magnus. Despite his resolve not to fraternize with his handler, a sickeningly naive part of Alec wanted to be seen worthy of… something.

“Also you seem to forget that more often than not in our history, we’re at war with the French. Hence the spying. Don’t you feel lost when you’re send in France?” Magnus continued.

“I picked up enough to go by and play the clueless tourist through the years.” In truth, Alec took a perverse pleasure in butchering the language of love every time he got the occasion.

“Dear me, call me the next time you go, I don’t want to miss that… I’ll hold your hand the entire time I promise -unless it’s against regulations?”

Alec snorted. It was, in fact, against regulations ( _what wasn’t?_ ). But the idea was nice. He had seen Magnus typing away at a keyboard during a briefing in Maryse’s office and the handler had long, elegant fingers with so much rings on it it was a miracle he could still type as fast as he did. His right hand flexed without permission as if to demand on of Magnus’s in it.

“This isn’t nefarious. It’s just checking the orders those deputies received from Paris,” Alec reminded Magnus instead of acknowledging his flirting.

“It’s always just checking until we’re pointing nukes to them.”

_Touché._

“Gee Babe, didn’t know you could predict the future. What about the weather?” he snarked back, scanning the documents in front of him a last time before rearranging them as they were.

There was, however, the oddest moment of silence in his ear.

“Are you… you’re smiling!” Magnus accused. Alec forced his features back to a focused scowl. “I can see you through the surveillance feed in front of me! No! Bring it back!”

“Must have been a weird pixel distortion Babe,” he said but his heart wasn’t in it and a new smile quickly stretched his lips.

“Shit! About that weather prevision… Hailstorm of bullets coming your way if you get caught. Three gua- no four, east corridor. Might want to hurry up a little but remember, no lethal force if you’re spotted, they’re allies.”

“Allies in name only,” Alec didn’t refrain from grunting at the hypocrisy of it all. Here he was, stealing intel from a french european deputy (the third of the night) while his government was playing friendly ex-lover to Europe.

“I don’t make the rules, Woody.”

Alec got back in the corridor and locked the door with his stolen key. He was about to move left to the stairs when Magnus commanded:

“No! Not that way, turn around and take the service elevator on your right.”

“You want me to ride it down?” Alec asked, incredulous.

“I want you to ride something alright,” Magnus breathed. “No, use the maintenance shaft and climb up two stories. Then wait for further instructions, I need to look at the floor plan more closely. And stop making that face, I disabled the elevator ten minutes ago.”

Alec didn’t know what kind of face he had made but it was burning furiously because of his handler’s flirting.

“You know…” he began but closed his mouth in shame. What had he been about to say? That he would gladly go to bed with Magnus? Ask him on a date?

“What?”

“Nothing. I just hate climbing,” he lied, shaking himself up.

A few minutes later, he was going through open space offices on his hands and knees to keep low and not attract the attention of the guards that were patrolling the floor. Magnus was snickering in his ear and honestly, Alec couldn’t fault him.

“Drop to the ground and roll under one of those desks. Oh and, you might want to cover your ears.”

“Please tell me you’re not about to sing!” Alec furiously murmured.

“Philistine! My _God Save The Queen_ interpretation was amazing, the whole Handlers’ floor applauded!”

“It was loud and obnoxious. And they applauded because you terrify them.”

“It was thematic!” Magnus retorted.

“I was breaking into Buckingham Palace, I didn’t feel like adding insult to injury!”

Worst, Magnus was a decent singer and Alec had had to stop himself from joining him more than once during his escape.

“Poor baby, you- NOW!”

Suddenly the guards walking a few feet from Alec were jumping in surprise, shouting among themself to be heard above _La vie en rose_ that was now blaring through the speakers of the large room.

Alec didn’t wait for Magnus to give him the go, as the guards were all glaring up at the speakers like it could shut down the song, got up and ran all the way to a window. He quickly opened it and went through, rappelling down the glass facade of the European Parliament.

“That was close,” he let out once he touched the ground and used his wrist command, retracting his abseiling rope back in place.

“Please, we’re hardly done for the night. You better start running though, change of clothes are in-”

“The second to last trashcan, I put it there myself,” Alec cut his handler.

“Sorry. Habits. How lucky I am to have a double-o agent that can do it aaaall by himself,” Magnus drawled, mocking Alec once more.

“I appreciate your help, Babe,” Alec grumbled. Understatement. But Alec couldn’t tell him that Magnus’ existence was a gift from God, now, could he?

“Gratefulness! Did that hurt?”

“Don’t push it,” Alec said, extracting the bag of clothes he would need for the second part of his assignment. Finding a dark alley wasn’t hard and he quickly changed his get up. He adjusted his vest and broke into a steady run, going back toward the historic center of Brussels. To anyone, he would look like a very early jogger.

Magnus, though, wasn’t finished.

“You know, you can rely on me.” It was almost shy, light years away from Magnus’ usual playful tone.

Alec swallowed, uncomfortable about Magnus’ willingness to expose himself so readily and counted to ten to calm himself down.

“I know,” he answered. It was true.

Three long days later, Alec left a Manneken Pis snow globe on Magnus’ desk. Not because the handler had saved him from a mortal danger, but just because.

 

*****

**NOW**

It’s been two days since he woke up and Alec is still strapped to a hospital bed and cared for by shifty doctors that don’t meet his eyes or answer him when he asks them questions about _his bloody health_. They’re all accompanied by armed guards and Alec doesn’t have it in him to glare at them or complain about their bad bedside manners, he’s already in a hospital bed after all.

Two full days -and how many more he spent unconscious?- since the fire.

No way that people in the village didn’t spot the smoke, didn’t send someone to check on them. _Luke knows_. Luke knows his cabin went up in flames, that Alec and Magnus are missing. Luke’s coming for them.

God, Alec hopes that it’s true, because he can’t see an out. Not trapped wherever he is and certainly not without knowing what happened to Magnus.

The worst is that Alec had hope, at first, that this was a MI6 runned hospital. It certainly looked like it with the level of security deployed. But whatever had happened to him, being rescued wasn’t part of it. Obviously, Alec had hurt his head but he can’t remember _how_. He was on a motorcycle, hunting the men that took Magnus but… after that his mind is blank and then he woke up here without anyone willing to enlighten him.

Alec hears someone talking on the other side of his door and tries to look as calm as he can. The last time he had seemed agitated to one doctor, the man had injected him with something that knocked him out for hours and left him drowsy long after he woke up.

The door of his room opens and Valentine Morgenstern himself enters with a food tray. Alec recognizes him from the pictures in the files he read with Luke when they were preparing Magnus’ rescue. He’s obviously older and his thick hair has been shaved to nothing. He bulked out, too. But the eyes are the same -piercing and dark.

“And how are you today, Alec?” Morgenstern cheerfully asks as he settles down on a chair near Alec’ bed. His tone sends chills down Alec’s sore body.

“Good,” Alec answers automatically. He doesn't want to found out what would happen to him if he doesn't play the grateful and complying guest. It’s sick that he’s been in this situation so often than he developed a reflex just for it. This isn’t the worst outcome there is.

“Marvellous,” Morgenstern says and uncovers the food tray. “Bane will be delighted by the news, I must say that he looked a bit pale and anxious since Sebastian told him you were in the infirmary but, well. It’s to be expected. Young love,” he sighs and looks away a bit sadly.  

Alec’s relief about Magnus being alive is short lived as a wave of sickness overwhelms him. Morgenstern is feeling _mournful_ about Jocelyn, Luke’s wife. The woman that refused to follow him in his maddeness and was scared of him.

In his job, Alec saw enough of what powerful men put their loved ones through when they're frustrated and angry. He takes a deep calming breath that echoes through the heart monitor as they slow his heart and tones down his features to hide his disgust.

“So, now that you’re a little more conscious, what about that job offer?”

“Uh,” Alec says smartly. What the hell is he talking about?

Morgenstern frowns.

“Pardon me, I should have known better than make complex conversation to someone that just banged his head hard. After you fell off that bike, I proposed you a arrangement. You and Bane, working for me. Well, with restrictions of course, but you can’t blame me for being prudent.”

“I don’t… remember.”

“The concussion,” Morgenstern says helpfully, bringing a glass of water to his lips.

Alec sips on it reluctantly but he can’t refuse nor allow himself to grow weak for his pride.

“Just don’t spit on me, alright?” Morgenstern say with humor. At Alec’s quizzical frown, he explains, “Sebastian decided that goading you into you spitting vomit on his face was a nice way to reintroduce himself. He’s always been… prickly. You might not remember it but you guys used to have a lots of playdates when you were little… Then my best friend stole my wife and I was left to raise Sebastian alone.”

And what. _Sebastian Verlac is Morgenstern’s son?!_ Luke obviously left out a few details when he talked to Alec about Morgenstern and Jocelyn… Jesus, do they even know? How is that possible anyway? Alec read everything he could find on Verlac and his father, their company: it’s all legit, pictures, certificate of birth, dental re- unless… unless Morgenstern switched the real Verlac heir with his own son a long time ago, staging the accident that claimed Verlac Sr’s life? What kind of sick bastard is that man?

A dirty truth creeps in the back of his mind: Even if Verlac is, in fact, Jocelyn’s son it doesn’t change a thing about his involvement in countless deaths and other disgusting acts. He must be dealt with no matter what.

“Now, just so we’re clear. I don’t need you. Bane might be easier to work with if you’re breathing but if I kill you, it’s nothing a little torture can’t fix.” Morgenstern’s smile stays on despite what he just said, the very definition of politeness.

But his words spark uncontrollable anger in Alec and he pointlessly struggles against his sturdy bonds. He needs to strangle Morgenstern more than breathing.

Morgenstern just looks at him like he is an unruly child.

“Is this really necessary?” he asks with disappointment. “Bane is pampered with the best food there is, the best tech money can buy and if he behaves -if _you_ behave- he will have you looking all pretty in the room we arranged for him. This doesn't have to be more complicated than that.”

“What do you want from him?!”

Morgenstern smiles indulgently. It reminds Alec of his mother’s smile so much he stops breathing for a second. _Here comes the lesson_ , he thinks.

“You know how the world works, Alec. Your parents and the MI6 taught you and, I must say, you prove yourself to be a redoubtable knife in their arsenal. Sharp and swift, quality that I always admired. But that’s all they asked of you. Knives are just tools, Alec,” he pauses, looks down at his hands, “and tools are useless if they think on their own and question your right to strike. Look at you, you’ve been sent all over the world, killing, spying, stealing. Never they stopped to ask if you were fine. To the point you decided to take a leaf out of Luke’s book and retreat from the world. But that’s only a bandaid on a ruptured artery. The real problem is that the MI6 works us to madness or death. They never cared, never considered that we could actually _feel_.”

Alec can’t deny the logic behind it. This is, roughly, the point that Luke made about Maryse in the Quiet Room. But Luke’s words came out of care, not propaganda. Morgenstern’s ego is so big he thinks he can charm the memory of the dozens and dozens of deaths he caused out of Alec.

“Because spies are disposable,” Morgenstern continues. “We’re knives. Every intel you would have is six months old. You're, sorry for the phrasing, _perishable goods_. But the handlers? The Q department? Those are little treasures, whose values aren’t affected by time. Why do you think that is?”

Alec doesn’t want to answer but he forces himself, playing along Morgenstern’s little lecture.

“Spies only have the intel that is presented to them or that they uncover. The Q department has access to every tech we steal or the one they make and the...” he falters. “The handlers know everything, they can hack everything...”

Magnus had always been more informed than Alec. He could simply dig into the Archives databases at will, just for kicks and learn state secrets without anyone noticing or stopping him. _You can’t protect your money from the people who built the safe._

What did Magnus said when he came to talk in Alec’s flat all those months ago? That he built the software of the home security of every MI6 employee.

“And they help with security protocols all over the country for various people and agencies. One could decide to fetch one of those individuals and have him unlock a few doors and ease out a few acquisitions,” Morgenstern finishes smugly.

“Belcourt? She told you about Magnus.” Alec feels sick again. She knew him, how he was. Everything he did. She spied on him and marked him for kidnapping.

“Cam had her use but she quickly realised that Bane would not join me as readily as she did. She’d been working with me for years. Wasn’t sad when she passed, though. She had to make it personal, so set on kidnapping Bane _specifically_ that she left Fell and Loss behind and brought only interns with him. But I can hardly blame her, as I was myself looking for your charming mother and my good friend Luke.”

“All this…” Alec can’t stop the nervous giggle that escapes him, “all this to steal money and kill some people that wronged you?”

“Every revolution needs banking, Alec,” Morgenstern snaps, his fatherly demeanor slipping. “And every man has his price. Bane’s was you. And if he isn’t yours, I can arrange for your siblings to be dead in the morning. Your choice.”

With that, Morgenstern leaves and a nurse comes in, fetching the food tray and nervously offering a forkful of chicken to Alec.

Alec forces himself to eat. He needs his strength back as Morgenstern will not strangle himself when the time comes.

 

*****

Four guards take him from his hospital room in the middle of the night and march him across a huge military styled base. He’s heavily handcuffed, both wrists and ankles, linked by a tight metal chain that makes it difficult to walk.

It’s very cold.

After ten minutes or so, his breathing has turned shallow and he realises that it has nothing to do with his concussion or the forced bed rest. This is like that time he went spying on a billionaire in the Alps; the air is thin. Thinner than he’s used to be and it places Morgenstern's base somewhere in altitude. The buildings must be equipped with atmospheric regulators since he could breath perfectly fine in the hospital.

The four men escorting him don’t seem bothered by it but they’re all wearing full balaclava and it’s impossible to get any clue from them or their appearances. Most of the hospital personnel had sounded american and european, but Alec is beginning to think that he’s far, far away from England.

Alec swallows. Morgenstern didn’t come back to have an answer after his proposal and it was _three days ago_. Now Alec is being transferred out of the hospital to… somewhere. It’s not like anyone is being helpful and telling him things. Perhaps he’s being executed.

Shit.

No. He refuses to believe that or let the little spark of fear catch fire. He's been _groomed_ for God's sake, dressed into designer jeans and a Dior shirt by a orderly under the supervision of two guards. _A barber_ came cut his hair and shave his beginning of a beard. He's not dying tonight.

Unless Morgenstern has some sick sense of humor and want to execute him in front of a camera so he can send the footage to his parents and the MI6. It's not that far fetched, Morgenstern showed that he had a sense for dramatics.

They cross a training ground with obstacle courses and shooting range and a heliport on their way.

At some point Alec sees an army issued cargo plane land nearby. They must have access to an airstrip of their own. It’s also obvious that this place was made to accommodate a large number of troops, with all the buildings and equipment. That scares Alec. What the hell is Morgenstern playing at? There are cameras everywhere; high fences crossing the grounds with heavily secured gates; patrols canvassing the place...

Morgenstern has been busy those last twenty-three years and he wants Alec to see this, to be impressed, to know his microscopic place in the great game. The older man is showing off: every fence and every guard suggested _“You can’t escape this, so don’t bother”_ in Morgenstern’s obnoxiously friendly voice.

But Morgenstern ordered for him to be moved at night, when most people are asleep and the base is near silent. Might be to keep his presence here quiet as he can; to hide a (improbable) security flaw; to hide the troops and their actual number or level of training.

_Impressed, but not too informed._

Alec doesn’t care. Odds were never in his favor for most of his missions and he chooses to concentrate on the relief it is to be outside for the first time in days. His head hurts still but he’s better.

The thin air isn’t the only clue about the location of the base, though. No matter what Morgenstern is playing at, Alec is thankful for the sharp cold of the night air. The sky is clear and the Southern Cross is shining bright.

 _South hemisphere,_ Alec realises.

All those months ago, when he was looking for Magnus, he had researched a lot about Verlac Inc and their different research facilities or offices. And there was one, a deep space observatory, in Bolivia.

Alec looks around… The base doesn’t look like the satellite pictures he saw but even those can be forged. Shit, to think they used false intel to determine where Morgenstern was holding Magnus the first time...

After half an hour of increasingly difficult walk, the guards direct Alec to a four-storey building and inside. The air gets better here and Alec finally can breathe fully and feels far more awake.

The guard closest to him shoves him on the nearest door and Alec nearly trips because of his ankle cuffs, before his shoulder hits the door violently. A guard kneels down while a second one points his assault rifle on Alec’s chest.

The message is clear and Alec stops breathing. He’s not dying because a guard thought that he was trying something. Once his ankles are free, the guard stands and grips his wrists forcefully and unlocks those cuffs too before opening the door and finally backing out.

Alec frowns but still enters a dark room -the door is immediately bolted from the outside and Alec sighs.

“We really should stop meeting like this Alexander,” Magnus says from behind him.

Alec turns around quickly, but the he can’t see anything. He searches blindly around the door for a lightswitch and when he finds it, turns on the light.

Magnus is simply there, sitting with his arms around in his knees on a couch. It’s the only furniture in the room and there’s no window. Magnus looks… bad. Not too bad, not physically weak like he was when they found each other in the lab, but the glow he had during their week together at the cabin is gone, replaced by worry and heavy shadows under his eyes. It’s strange to see that he’s dressed from head to toes in fancy clothes -more prince than prisoner. Well, Morgenstern did say that Magnus was being pampered; apparently the man wasn’t lying.

Alec slowly crosses the room to go sit with Magnus on the couch.

“No hug this time?” Magnus asks.

“I-I don’t...” Alec mumbles before he engulfs Magnus in a side hug. God he missed him. His voice, the stupid softness of his silk shirts, the weight of him in his arms and his scent -Alec could get drunk on it. Their position is awkward but Alec doesn’t care, doesn’t dare move to adjust it. There is no letting go of Magnus now.

“How’s your head?”

“Better,” Alec answers, face hidden in the crook of Magnus’ neck, “I’m so sorry Ma-”

“Don’t. This isn’t your fault. This is Morgenstern’s doing… Can’t blame him from wanting a piece of this.” Magnus’ tone doesn’t match his light words and Alec holds him tighter.

“You’re okay?” Alec asks.

“Better now that I see you’re not a vegetable… God Alec. I though that you were… the noise it made… And Morgenstern… they were just talking about killing you.”

“Just a concussion,” Alec says softly against Magnus’ skin, keeping at bay the possibilities of what could have happened. He still hasn't recovered his memories of the accident and the gap in his mind makes everything more scary.

“Yes. That’s what _he_ said. You always end up giving me grey hair.”

“They haven’t done anything to you?”

“No. But Morgenstern was pretty clear of what would happened to you if I didn’t comply. Told him I needed to see you and make sure you weren’t dead already,” Magnus explains bitterly. “You should have _waited_ for reinforcements at the village.”

Alec detaches himself from Magnus, incredulous.

“You would have me let you be taken without trying to save you?” he exclaims, his eyes finding Magnus’ immediately, reading the anger on his face, the barely contained tension that accompanies it.

“Yes!” Magnus yells.

“Have you met me?” Alec stands up and paces the room to calm himself. “I smelled fire, Magnus. _Fire_!”

“And you should have done the smart thing!” Magnus is furious now. So furious in fact that he stands up and roots himself in front of Alec so he can glare at him more efficiently. Alec looks down at him but he’s the one feeling small.

“I haven’t done a smart thing since I met you,” Alec retorts truthfully. “No point beginning now.”

“You are insuffer-”

Alec kisses him.

It’s just a small peck on the corner of his lips but Alec stops himself before he loses control. _It’s a nice start,_ he thinks.

Some of Magnus’ gloss sticked on his lips; it tastes like lime and sugar. Heavenly.

Magnus stays silent, eyes impossibly wide.

“I never reached the village, I was coming back to do that,” Alec feels like he has to explain himself which is ridiculous. He’s already losing IQ points because of that one little kiss. “And I just wanted to tell you-”

The rest of his declaration is lost as Magnus seems to have finally processed the kiss and decided that the best course of action is gripping Alec’s shirt and hauling him down for a searing kiss. There is no finesse, no restrain. The kiss is so overdue that they just stumble into each other, avid and open mouthed.

Magnus’ hands migrate down his chest and to his hips while Alec stands there, arms in mid air and not touching Magnus, not before he moans and Alec stops denying that he just wants to card his fingers in Magnus’ ridiculously soft hair and then Alec just… get lost in it.

At some point, Alec pulls away, too overwhelmed by the way Magnus sucks on his lower lip to properly breathe and trails kisses on his cheek, down his ear and, lightly, bites Magnus’ neck to taste the water. Magnus’ answering moan makes him smile against his skin and he goes back up, slowly, working kisses and bites along his sharp jawline while titling Magnus’ face up with his hand and back to his lips again.

Magnus captures his mouth again and brings their hips and chests closer, even if Alec can barely breath as it is. There is no space between them apart from their clothes and Alec want them gone, gone, gone...

An heavy noise happens, metal rattling against metal, and Alec realizes with a start it’s the door that has been unlocked. He forgot where they were for a moment. While Magnus tries to disentangle them, Alec keeps him close a second longer to kiss him again, just once.

The door opens.

“See? I told you he was okay!” Morgenstern exclaims behind Alec.

Alec turns towards him, expression as neutral as he can make it and body slightly in front of Magnus’. He has to stops himself from crossing his arms as they need Morgenstern to think they’re open to negotiation.

“Now, can we please focus on my proposition? Because if not, Sebastian will be delighted to know that he can have one of you to carve into… always experimenting, that one.” Morgenstern says. There is no fondness in his tone but not worry either. More like the sad capitulation of a man that had to accept that his son was a monster and rolled with it.

“We’re listening,” Magnus says curtly.

“Marvellous! I’ve been thinking and, let’s not kid ourselves, I can’t trust either of you. What I can trust, though, is Mr. Lightwood’s dedication to protect you. He proved twice that he was willing to risk everything to save you. News travel fast and some of my competitors have been informed that I got myself a game changer. In all logic, they’ll try to steal you from me Mr. Bane. And I can’t have that.”

Alec can’t have that either. Now he sees what Morgenstern has been hinting at all along.

“You want me to protect Magnus and make sure that no one kidnaps him.”

“Or _rescue_ him.” Morgenstern adds with indulgence. “Don’t give me that look, I know you'll try to buy yourself time until some providential savior comes for you. But I had you and Bane fitted with little exploding devices in your chest cavities when we got you here. You better run from your friends if they're annoying enough to come.”

Automatically, Alec’s right hand goes to his chest. He doesn’t feel any pain from a new scar so it could be a bluff but when he turns to check on Magnus’ reaction, he’s so pale that Alec _knows_ he was awake when they did it to him.

Alec swallows around his rage. Funny how his ability to restrain himself is working in his favor for once.

“It detonates if we’re out of bounds?” he asks.

“Of course. And if I feel like it,” Morgenstern raises his left arm and show them a wrist command. “A bit comic book villain for my taste but dreadfully efficient.”

“What do I have to do?”

“For now, nothing at all. Pangborn will bring you a gun and some gear of course -try to not point it at my men, please- but tonight, just bring back Mr. Bane to his quarters and enjoy the rest of the night, he has a _busy_ day tomorrow.”

With that, Morgenstern smiles at them and leaves the room without closing the door behind him. The guards in the corridor lingers for a second or two before following him.

Magnus lets out a swear under his breath and Alec sighs.

“He has something else to keep us honest.”

“You mean apart for the bomb, the guards and the secluded base? Or were you referring to your painful death if either of us toes the line too much?” Magnus snarls.

 _Shit, he’s pissed again._ It’s even more obvious when Alec turns and catches Magnus’ thunderous expression.

“Yeah, apart from that,” he says before kissing Magnus on the forehead. He has to keep Magnus from panicking. And himself too.

“Don’t try to,” a kiss on the nose, “cute yo-” a kiss on the corner of the lips, “way out” and a second, “of thiiis.”

Magnus is halfheartedly batting him away by the end of his sentence and Alec closes his eyes, forehead resting on Magnus’.

“You can’t blame me for trying to get you. Please,” he begs, hands on Magnus’ warm sides.

“God you’re so.... Urgh,” Magnus says, defeated.

“Yeah, you too. Where are your quarters anyway?”

“Well that’s very forward of you, we just kissed you know. Wait until the third kidnapping to make a move like that.”

Alec rolls his eyes and kisses Magnus again, before being interrupted by a knock on the door. A black man in a suit is looking at them distrustfully.

“Ah! Pangborn, still running errands I see,” Magnus throws at the man. Obviously Alec isn’t the only one getting fed up of the interruptions.

“Don’t start, Bane.” He enters the room and gives Alec a briefcase without sparing him more than a glance before leaving the room.

Alec opens it and, as Morgenstern promised, it contains some weapons and their gear.

“I always pictured you in a Lara Croft outfit with the tight holsters, even when I knew you were wearing a stupid tuxedo,” Magnus jokes without too much conviction. He sounds sorry and worried, like Alec is a recovering addict that was just handed a fix.

“Yeah.” Alec isn’t really happy about the guns either. Or the knife. He knows it’s necessary, both for him and Magnus but… shit, _this isn’t the cabin_. He doesn’t have any other option so he grinds his teeth together and equip himself: A gun in a waist holster, another on his right thigh while the knife will go on his left -it’s his own combat knife he dumbly realises, with the little AGL etched in the grip that Izzy made for him before his first real assignment.

He used to love that knife. What had Morgenstern told him a few days ago? _Knives are just tools, Alec._

He had been his mother’s, the MI6’s and now he was Morgenstern’s.

No. Never. If Alec was going to be anyone’s knife again, he was going to be his own. And Magnus’ too.

The sense of purpose and the calm it always brings Alec washes over him. Focused, he looks down at the knife and thumbs the letters before putting the knife in its holster.

The briefcase also contains an earpiece and a wrist command; Alec eyes them with distaste. Earpieces used to be his lifelines; his link to Magnus.

“Those are MI6 issued. He must have stolen the design when he attacked us,” Magnus explains like he knows what Alec is thinking.

“You have one?”

“Everyone does. Only time I get to get it out is when I sleep or shower. The wrist command keeps track of the time I’m not wearing it so if I don’t respect the time limit Pangborn comes running into my rooms, guns out. He sleeps near my quarters so he’s the one that as the priviledge to shout at me for taking too much time in the shower,” Magnus says. He’s obviously sour about the situation. “As if a civilised man take less than ten minutes to wash his hair.”

“I suppose he’s happy I’m your new bodyguard.”

“I’m happy enough for th-” Magnus yawns deeply, “two of us, believe me.”

Alec snorts and slips the earpiece in and the wrist command on -the latter tightens immediately and when Alec tries to loosen it, the device vibrates and begins to hum threateningly. Alec stops moving and slowly, the wrist command goes silent.

_Fucking perfect._

“Lead the way then,” Alec says, designating the door.

Magnus takes his hand and they leave the room like that, without escort.

“This is unsettling,” Alec comments at the lack of supervision. No one seems to patrol the building and it puts Alec on edge.

“Appearances of freedom… still, the wrist commands are as bad as any cuff. And before you ask, I already tried to hack into it but Morgenstern learnt from his mistakes in Scotland. I don’t have access to half the servers and you can’t hack into them wirelessly,” Magnus says with lots of gestures with his free hand. “As for the other half, I don’t have time to really dive into them.”

Alec nods. He’s a bit worried that Magnus speaks so freely of trying to escape as those wristbands are probably recording their every words. But brazen had always been Magnus’ mark of fabric and it was impossible not to be impressed by that.

As it turns out, Magnus’ quarters are just two flights of stairs up and Alec is relieved not to have to step outside again.

“Hum,” Magnus says as he opens his door. “I can sleep on the couch.” He looks conflicted, swaying on his feet nervously, like he’s not sure that the kissing means Alec is a-okay with the intimacy of sleeping in the same bed.

Even kidnapped, Magnus still tries to handle Alec with care.

“You know, I should get kidnapped with you more often. ‘Never got more than a ratty blanket in my days but you have _an entire suite_ for yourself. Unbelievable.” Alec tries to make light of the situation and pushes Magnus so they can enter and just go to sleep. “And if you don’t mind sharing, I don’t.”

By that, Alec means that he wants to have Magnus’ reassuring presence close by. He’s not sure if he can actually sleep without it.

Magnus beams at him before closing the door, then he frowns when he’s just in front of Alec, having to look up a bit that close to maintain eye contact.

“Why do you have to be so tall anyway? It’s unbearable,” Magnus complains.

Alec doesn’t know what comes upon him. The stress of being at the mercy of a megalomaniac with a death button? Finally getting what he craved for two years and a half? Bit of both he supposes.

That’s his excuse for slamming Magnus against the door, hand cradling the back of his head and kissing him until Magnus pulls his hair and fucking bites his bottom lip. Alec pulls back a little, needing to see Magnus’ face and the feverish look in his eyes but Magnus brings him down again and with so much force that Alec’s legs shake.

Bloody. Hell.

Magnus is strong and _willing_ and so warm against Alec he’s sure they’re melting together and never coming apart.

But they have to. They have to because Alec is still recovering and exhausted, because Magnus is valiantly suppressing his yawns to kiss Alec breathless. Both wrecked and so, so hungry.

Alec is the one to slow them down, to cradle Magnus’ face in his hands and caress his cheekbones with his thumbs, to pepper his lips with little kisses before murmuring against them.

“Bed?”

Magnus half-laughs, half-yawns and no one ever made a more endearing noise. Alec has to kiss him again.

“Next time we do this, you better carry me,” Magnus announces, fingering at Alec’s collarbone through his shirt.

“You’re very demanding,” Alec says appraisingly.

“I know my worth,” Magnus challenges, a gleam in his eyes that dares Alec to contradict him.

Magnus is always so shameless with his self-esteem, it makes Alec weak at the knee. This man is impossible and lovely, prickly and soft and, if Alec isn’t mistaken, _his_.

Alec nods and they’re pressed so close that his nose bumps against Magnus’. God, how much he loves him, wants to worship him. He’s tempted to say it, do to it, as simple as that but kisses his forehead instead.

He keeps his words for later, when his eyes aren't closing by themselves.

 

*****

Alec wakes up with Magnus in his arms and he smiles against the back of his neck before realizing what woke him up.  
  
It’s not his rigid cock.  
  
It’s not the way Magnus wiggles in his sleep against it or the gibberish he murmures (sounds a lot like approval).  
  
No, something unfamiliar is ringing and Alec's mood turns sour when he places the noise. It’s his wrist command alerting him it’s time to put on his earpiece… _This isn't the cabin_ , he admonishes himself again. Letting himself relish in the false sense of calm is reckless.  
  
It takes a few tries to detangle himself from Magnus and gently shakes him awake before slipping on his earpiece. His wrist command stops a second later but Magnus’ rings louder.  
  
“Whatisit?” Magnus asks, sleep-ruffled and bleary eyed.  
  
“Wake up call,” Alec answers with a tiny kiss on his shoulder.  
  
How he could sleep through both their alarms combined is a mystery. Magnus swears but quickly complies and silences the damn alarm. It doesn't stop him from laying back in bed as soon as it’s done and to burrow deeper under the covers, dragging Alec right along with him for a heated kiss, morning breath be damn.  
  
Alec doesn't fight it, wouldn't even know how or why.  
  
There is so much to do today. Learn more about the base, about Morgenstern, slowly work him over to instill a reasonable amount of complaisance in him, keep Magnus safe... brush his fingers on the small of Magnus’ back, kiss him and...  
  
Hell, Alec doubts he can live without him now. Not when he had a taste of what they could be and Magnus’ solid weight on top of him, vibrant and oh so wanton.

Magnus is working their hips and groins together with a rhythm only he can understand, leaving Alec helpless in his pleasure, at Magnus’ mercy. Then it’s worst, as Magnus finds Alec’s neck and sucks avidly on a spot just above his jugular. He’s wrecking Alec, wrecking him intently, marking him and forcing broken moans out of him. Why not... indulge after all?  
  
The second Alec lets his hands take a good grasp at Magnus' muscular arse to retaliate, to ruin him in return, the other man turns rigid and says:  
  
"What?” with so much spite that Alec shudders in fear and incomprehension. Did he do something wrong? Shit, he can feel Magnus’ cock losing interest alarmingly fast on what they were doing.  
  
"I don't fucking care. It's seven, I have to be at the lab at eight-" a pause and Alec finally understands what happening. _Bloody earpiece_. "No, eight is eight, you can come fetch me if you want but I won't budge from my bed," a pause, "so? You think Morgenstern will be impressed that you’re a zealous idiot?... That’s what I thought."

Magnus looks heavenward and sighs joylessly.  
  
"What was that about?” Alec asks.

"Blackwell trying to assert dominance again,” Magnus scoffs. “He and Pangborn think that I should be chained to a laptop with an infusion pump in the arm.”  
  
"I’ll kill them,” Alec swears.  
  
"You’re not supposed to point your guns at Morgenstern's men.”  
  
"I have a knife,” Alec answers before he stops himself, horrified at his words.  
  
It didn't take him a _week_ to regress back to a killing machine. The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
Magnus kisses his nose like he sensed that Alec’s mood was turning dark and sighs again as he gives a last glance to Alec’s obvious erection before getting up to open the blinds.

Light floods the room all the sudden and Alec has to squint his eyes against it. The sky is of the purest blue outside and Alec wants nothing more than shut the blinds back and keep Magnus safe in bed with him; to make a shelter of blankets and arms around him.

"The shower is big and..." Magnus trails off, eyes on Alec's naked chest. "Who am I kidding. Please come shower with me?”  
  
Alec nods and takes his earpiece out before turning on a countdown on his wrist command for a shower (20 minutes and Alec glares at the time, 19:56, this isn't a fraction of what he wants to spend with Magnus, 19:54).

Magnus takes off his shirt, exposing the little red scar were the explosive was implanted. Alec has a matching one above his heart, he saw it last night while brushing his teeth. Fucking Morgenstern… Magnus then places his earpiece on the bedside table near a… no. It can’t be.

“So… you’re going to stay on the bed with your gloriousness while my gloriousness is in the shower or… ?” Magnus asks when Alec doesn’t move.

But Alec can’t. Move that is. Or think.

Because Magnus has a little snow globe on his bedside table, something that Alec hadn’t paid attention to when he went to bed last night. Alec could be wrong but it sure looks like the Balmoral castle, which is half an hour away from where Morgenstern had been holding Magnus the first time.

“That’s…” he can’t say the words. Doesn’t know what the words would even be.

Magnus follows his line of sight and blush -hard. He fumbles back near the bed and catches the souvenir, promptly hiding it behind his back like Alec is a toddler that hasn't mastered object permanence yet. Like Alec is going to forget what he just saw any time soon.

“That’s a snow globe,” Alec finally manages to observe at loud, dumbfounded.

“It’s nothing really…”

“I didn’t buy that,” Alec says, pointing the obvious again. He took Magnus’ words seriously when he said that he _hated_ the sight of the gifts. This has to be… “coping with snow globes?” he asks.

Magnus looks down, on the side, then up; everywhere but at Alec for a good minute. He takes a breath and opens his mouth before closing it again. He sighs.

“When I realised that I couldn’t work efficiently, not as a handler at least, I went to the Academy. But it wasn’t enough. It was so loud and I remember, I was talking with the students about coping mechanism… You spent two years trapping bad memories -death threats, injuries, witnessing the worst, killing- into snow globes and I thought that I could give it a try,” Magnus justifies. “I looked at it for hours, shook it until my hands hurt but it didn’t work, probably because it was your ritual and not mine.”

“I always gave _you_ the snow globes, Magnus.”

“I realised that… three weeks ago, roughly.” Magnus winces. “You trusted me with them, I just didn’t understand.”

“So you came to the cabin to give it to me?” Alec asks even if the answer is obvious, voice a little hoarse.

Magnus nods before bringing the snow globe in front of him, where Alec can see it.

“I should have explained. I should have done a lot of things,” Alec apologizes.

“We both wasted time for very different reasons. But we’re here,” Magnus says diplomatically before Alec can say anything else. “Back at the cabin I didn’t know how to approach the subject and… well. Morgenstern abducted me before I could work the nerve. They took a bag with some of my clothes in it. The snow globe was inside.” Magnus punctuated his words with a helpless kind of shrug. “I know I can be... proud sometimes. Showing vulnerability isn’t my strong suit,” Magnus adds quickly, like he rather not say.

“Oh.” Alec awkwardly rises to his knees and crawls on the bed to be closer to Magnus. He puts his hands on Magnus’ forearms to avoid the wrist command and gently squeezes. “When we get out of here, I'm going to get one last snow globe and we'll make a fire and burn them all if you want. Or like big obnoxious shelves in the living room and-” Alec falters… he's assuming a lot of things with that sentence.

“A shared living room?” Magnus picks up with a raised eyebrow, “again with the frowardness. I like it.”

“Unless you want me gone I'm not letting go. I'm done losing you.”

Alec marks his words -his promise- by kissing Magnus’ hands, looking up to him with steady eyes but a booming heartbeat.

“When did you get so bloody extra?” Magnus asks and he throws the snow globe on the mattress before crawling back on it and flushing their bodies together. He takes Alec's head in his hands and kisses him and God, Magnus’ light stubble is scratching his face and Alec loves it so much that he stops the kiss so he can rub his clean shaven cheek against Magnus’ prickly one.

They fall onto their sides before Alec pushes Magnus on his back and straddles him, only their underwear prohibiting skin on skin. His hands trail down Magnus’ chest, his sides and then up again, lightly scratching Magnus’ tanned skin with his nails. Magnus takes a sharp intake of breath, biting his lip prettily when he throws his head back in pleasure.

“Please do something…” Magnus pleads.

It’s so peculiar to hear Magnus beg for anything, anything at all, and Alec’s head swings with the possibilities.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Alec warns Magnus against his own will. Magnus catches his meaning and scowls.

“God you think you’re so suave bringing that bloody shower countdown into this,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t care for your brand of dirty taaaaa-”

Alec stops him with a slow grind of his arse against Magnus’ cock. Magnus whines and throws an arm over his eyes, his other hand gripping the sheet taut.

“God do that again!” he demands.

Alec does. Once, twice and he moans too. It’s been so long since he did this just because he wanted to, with someone he actually liked, let alone loved. He’s not sure how much time is left but he wants to hear Magnus come undone under him; carve his voice inside his head and never forget it. But first he wants to _look_ at him so he takes Magnus’ arm away from his face and guides his hand on his thigh. Magnus’ fingers immediately sink in Alec’s flesh and it’s shy of painful but Alec needs the grounding it provides.

“Look at me Magnus.”

Magnus opens his eyes and Alec forgets to breath because this is Magnus; Magnus in bed with him, under him. Beautiful Magnus, in full display for Alec’s eyes to feast upon, welcoming touches that Alec had always dreaded for fear of destroying him. Waiting, waiting, always waiting, kind and sharp at the same time, for Alec to catch up with him.

Two years and a half, coming to this exact moment in this improbable place.

“I love you,” Alec says, unashamed of the emotion in his voice. “I loved you selfishly, in the broken way I knew. I loved you when you raged at me, mocked me and screamed my stupid codename in fear and relief. I loved you when I forbid myself to dare think about it and even more when I couldn’t stop. I loved you when you cared, when I thought that you had stopped. I love you right now and I’ll love you tomorrow and all the days after that one too.”

Magnus is still looking at him, speechless.

“I love you,” he repeats, hand caressing Magnus’ cheek.

Magnus sits up and kisses him. It’s a delicate kiss, just the press of their lips together and a nimble really, but Alec is grateful for it.

“I love you too.”

Magnus’ words wrap around Alec’s skin like silk and he shivers.

After that, it’s very, very quiet. Soft moans and softers words fills the room while Alec and Magnus make love. It’s sex to the barest of meaning, a way to get closer. Their underwears stay mostly on and it’s just that, just hands and kisses and _looks_. Just panting into each other mouths until Alec cries out and Magnus is right there with him, sucking, tugging at his bottom lip before he falls too, eyes closed and mouth opened in a silent scream of pleasure.

They don’t have time after that to shower or even eat but nothing seems to be able to dim Magnus’ smile, not even less than perfect hair (by his standards) or rushing through his beauty routine under Alec’s steady gaze.

 

*****

When they get outside, Alec is painfully reminded that this isn’t some kind of romantic retreat. The fact that they are in high altitude is even more obvious and the air is as difficult to breathe as it was last night. In the light of day, Alec can see that the landscape is almost arid and flat, with snow-covered mountain tops in the background. It’s would have been breathtaking if not for the military base and the small matter of Morgenstern’s troops.

By Alec’s count, some two hundred people are training around the base, running, shooting, scaling, falling and fighting. It’s a pretty diverse crowd too. Some instructor in her late forties is shouting with a thick french accent, her bearing is military and she doesn’t hesitate to hit someone on the head with the cross of her rifle for missing a target. A bit farther, a lanky black guy in a faded Chicago Bulls shirt throws a small device at a dead body -on hit, some kind of acid fog disintegrates the corpse in seconds. The “students” seem to be from everywhere around the world.

Everywhere Alec can see kids and young adults being drilled to kill and _obey_. As they pass, a group of young girls is running an obstacle course. The first one to complete it, a petite girl wearing faded khakis, screams her victory in spanish -she can’t be older than 12 and is exuding joy and high fiving with a friendly looking coach... None of them seem to be bothered by the air quality, as if used to it.

What the hell are Morgenstern and Verlac doing here? And for how long? Because this doesn’t feel brand new to Alec’s guts.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Magnus says before dragging Alec away by the hand. “Like Morgenstern’s nightmarish version of the Academy.”

“The Academy doesn’t recruit kids under 15,” Alec mutters.

“It used to,” Magnus says hauntingly.

He’s right of course. Alec’s own parents, as well as Luke and Morgenstern himself were in the Academy before the tender age of 5, when the Cold War was at its worst. Spies were bred and raised by the hundreds then. It would be funny to point out that Morgenstern seems to be repeating the system he works so hard to destroy if it didn’t involve _kids._ Hell, Alec was also trained well before age 15, by his own parents…

 _The apples didn’t fall far from the tree, even if they would probably deny it,_ Alec thinks bitterly.

After some more walking (how big is this place, goddamnit?) Magnus comes to a stop in front of a heavy set building with no window. Must be their destination, because Magnus tenses a fraction more. He looks down at his wrist command and takes his hand off the door handle of the building like it burned him.

“What are we doing?” Alec asks when Magnus leans on the wall and closes his eyes, like he’s ready to take a nap right then and there.

“It’s 7:55. I’m not due in there for another five minutes, I refuse to give Pangborn the satisfaction.”

Alec snorts and tugs Magnus closer to kiss him.

“What should I expect in there?” he asks, weary. “Last night I didn’t even think to…” God, he needs to focus.

Is Magnus attacking their country? Sapping the last defenses of the MI6? Pirating weapons design for Morgenstern’s benefit?

“Only hacking some of his competitors,” Magnus says slowly. Then, after a pause, “he made me steal the blueprints of Buckingham Palace too…” It comes out like the sickest confession and Magnus works his jaw against the words.

“ _Everyone_ broke into that place at least once, me included,” Alec points out. “He just wanted to test you with that one. I mean, creeping into the Queen’s vestibule is MI6 tradition by now.”

“Yeah, he said as much. Just wanted to see if I would do it…” Magnus hesitates. “You being released last night was a reward. I’m not even sorry.”

Alec winces at Magnus’ tone. His guilt is obvious but Alec doesn’t have any reassurance for him. Loyalty is easy until it’s tested. Alec knows that, intimately. He has scars all over his body as so many reminders.

Torture is… torture. It’s nothing like in the movies, where the hero keeps a straight face through interrogation or throws one-liners at his captors’ face and still look photogenic, if a bit rugged, at the end…

They strip you to make you feel vulnerable.

They starve you to make you weak.

They keep you awake to make you question your reality.

They hit you, just a few punches, perhaps a few broken ribs -just enough to establish a baseline.

Even that is bad. Terrifying.

You keep your mouth shut, your try to make your country proud.

Your captors look disappointed. The more they hurt you the less coherent you are, the less accurate your intel can be. But they have to -Alec had to, more than once. One person might try to show you a bit of kindness, see if they can sweet talk you into cooperating: food scraps here, a nap there.

Then, they bring out the big guns. Taunting of rape, nail pulling, toe cutting, back lashing… the usual.

You piss yourself. There’s no shame in that, everybody does.

You start talking -babbling really. Until someone hits you hard on the head when they finally get you know nothing, that you held this long not to protect your mission but to give someone, anyone, time to rescue you. Morgenstern had also been right about that: field agents only know so much and most of the time key intel is kept from them until they're confronted with it by their handler, just in case.

Alec had went through a lot. He always talked, there was no point denying it. _Everyone knows everyone talks_ , there was just no other choice: pain is just too much and it won’t stop, not when you beg, not when you faint. Not when it stops, sometimes.

A spasm runs through his left thigh, like an electroshock, stiffing up his muscles and Alec winces.

His body remembers Seoul -every ripped fiber and burned nerve- even after it was healed and made brand new.

But talking under torture is a world away from actively helping the enemy, isn’t it? Still. Someone you care about at gunpoint, their life in the balance, instead of yours; their pain but the power to stop it in one of your hands while the other clutches loyalty to a greater number...

A gun to Max’s head? To Jace’s? Izzy’s? That had never been a possibility before as Alec had never been threatened so intimately. He hadn’t had to consider what he would do, what layer of loyalty he could live with burning away while still being able to live with himself.

And to think that Magnus’ head was just in Morgenstern’s crosshair…

Magnus tugs at his sleeve, a little frown between his brow. Alec kisses it away and they finally enter the building after a quick, reassuring smile that Alec only feels on his face.

Pangborn is already there looking sour when they get into Magnus’ “lab”, which is basically a giant desk with ten screens arranged in two rows of five and keyboards and tablets. The rest is just huge servers behind reinforced glass with metallic fans on the ceiling keeping the room cool.

“This is where the magic happens and by that, I mean high treason,” Magnus announces humorlessly with a big, dramatic open arms gesture.

“You can sit here,” Pangborn says to Alec, pointing at a huge leather couch. “Don’t try to access  the servers in there if you don’t want your heart to go boom, stay here until eight tonight. I’ll bring food at twelve.”

“And?”

Pangborn breathes through his nose and glowers at Magnus.

“And tea at five Your Highfuckingness,” he sneers before leaving the room.

“Delightfull!” Magnus calls after him. “Still haven’t convinced him to steal me a kettle from the kitchens but I’m getting there,” he says to Alec after the door is locked from the outside.

Magnus sits in the comfy-looking chair and turns on everything.

“No bathroom breaks?” Alec asks looking at the barren room with unease.

“I have to call Pangborn for those, it’s ridiculous.” Magnus answers but his concentration is already on his screens, going through system check it seems. “Oh… well this is challenging I guess.”

“What?”

“My orders for today have changed, I was suppose to continue with the list of competitors to hack but Morgenstern wants me to get in the Aqua Comms servers.”

“What is that?” Alec asks as he lowered himself on the couch. Damn that thing feels expensive under his arse.

“Transatlantic networks company. They owns transatlantic submarine cables and some others between Ireland and the UK, I believe,” Magnus explains absently.

“And what are you suppose to do when you’re in?”

“Implant a program that will change some numbers…” Magnus stops and switches to another screen. “Oh, they're coming for the stock exchange markets.”

Alec frowns. “Crashing it?” he asks, suddenly worried. This is a catastrophe that the world doesn't need.

“No, which is kind of strange considering Morgenstern’s political manifesto. This is about money, small -still millions, mind you- and discreet. Just shaving off some profits here and there.”

“Every revolution needs banking,” Alec quotes.

“What?” Magnus looks over his shoulder, a quizzical expression on his face.

“Something that Morgenstern said when I was in the infirmary,” he explains. “Whose money will get cut when your program goes live?”

“Uh,” Magnus looks at a screen on his left, “Aegis Defense Services, Raytheon, Dassault… all military contractors and armaments manufacturers. “Their stocks will go down, subtlety, while some others will get up, but not for everyone. Traders won’t have the same numbers to base their buy on, the markets will freak.”

“But what’s the point? No money will get into Morgenstern’s accounts.”

“It will, just indirectly. People will overanalyze the numbers and won’t be able to tell from where the glitches are coming from -at first anyway. The only solution will be to buy into steady companies, the ones with numbers that check out everywhere across the board.”

“Verlac Inc has a weapon branche, _Morningstar Mechanic_ ,” Alec remembers.

Magnus checks his list “It’s not one of the targets.”

Which means that’s Morgenstern’s game. A base that forms spies and soldiers off teenagers; a company that builds weapons and supplies stolen goods from the british military to the highest bidders; the competition being digitally attacked and the all-out assault on the MI6 all point in a dreadful direction.

Morgenstern wasn’t hyperbolizing when he talked about a _revolution_. He’s building himself an army, one that will be equipped with a steady supplies of weapons, intel and money.

The rest is petty smoke and mirrors. The weapons sold in Cabo will spread to the rest of Central America and even further south, until every guerrilla runs around with british guns. Then who could tell if an attack was from local groups or a british black op in what the US considers their reserved playground? Who would _care_ to tell when you could accuse a powerful government of interference and benefit from it?

A nice jab at a government that Morgenstern loathes.

“This is bad,” he breathes out.

“Your chest exploding right in front of me would be too,” Magnus retorts, venomously. “I don’t have any other choice.”

Alec nods, even if Magnus isn’t looking at him. There _is_ a choice of course, one that Alec isn’t ready to consider either; one that is better left unsaid... He doesn’t want to see Magnus’ chest explode at all, but that’s probably what's _expected_ of them by MI6 standards.

“Can I do something?” he asks, more to distract himself from his dark thoughts than anything else.

Magnus swirls around on his chair and throws him a tablet across the room.

“Assess the priority level of the competitors list, that’s something that I won’t have to do later… Pangborn’s system leaves much to be desired.”

“That’s like, Archives grunt work,” Alec scrowls. God, it’s going to be a long day.

“Well, you could learn coding in the next few seconds to assist me in the Aqua Comms hack but that’s probably not happening, darling.” Magnus swirls back to face his screens, sounding so smug Alec glares lovingly at the back of his head.

“You’re enjoying that I’m useless here,” Alec accuses. Still, he turns on the tablet.

“Pff. So what if your indignant face is somewhat rewarding? _Agents_. Plus, there are no guns in here, so you’re kinda superfluous.”

“I have two.”

“And you have yet to shoot yourself, so I’m trusting you for not doing it now,” Magnus answers and Alec can detect an edge in his voice, something sharp underneath the mockery. Truth. Fear. Begging. Alec’s mind isn’t the only one to go to dark places. Choices that would be their duty to take…

“Now I think I finally get why interns hate you,” Alec mutters, refusing to acknowledge the obvious way out of here.

They’re not done yet.

“They don’t hate me,” Magnus says, in the middle of a bout of frenetic typing, “they _envy_ me.”

Alec doesn’t have anything to counter that, so he tries to concentrate on his assignment, reading up the intel on each of the so-called war lords that Morgenstern considers hindrances. He’s in the middle of ranking them by zone of influence (after struggling to rank them by manpower, since the reports aren’t conclusive or concurrent in most cases) when Magnus swears.

Loudly.

It differs from the normal kind, the swearing he does under his breath -for himself. The loud swearing is reserved for Big Troubles, the one that needs to be talked out and worked around in the field (usually it involves guns and Alec blowing stuff up but in this case, it’s not really an option).

“What?” Alec asks.

“My program is up and working in a simulation, all good, I’ll say… but Aqua Comms servers are a fortress. I can’t get in, not without physical access.”

Alec puts his tablet downs on the couch and gets up to walk behind Magnus, putting his hands on his broad shoulders and _squeeze_. Magnus groans appreciatively and Alec nips at his ear before murmuring “You already know what to do.” He massages Magnus’ neck, his thumbs kneading the stiffness out. “When the door is locked, you get them to open it for you.”

“Aaaaah bloody you,” Magnus moans, “God, I’m - _shit_ \- asking for you to be my new assistant if I ever get back to MI6.”

Alec laughs. “I don’t think there is budget for a personal masseur.”

“Shame.”

Magnus types something that looks a lot like a gibberish of keyboard smash but it actually must make some sense, cause a dialogue window opens on one of the screens.

“I’m going to request some manpower and have them overcharge a power grid and burn some stuff. Aqua Comms will have to assess damage and let external people in…”

“And you can slip one of Morgenstern’s man into to open you the gates,” Alec finishes. _It’s just a problem_ , he thinks. Just something that need to be resolved, not questioned. If he does that, if he let himself think about what they’re truly doing, they won’t be able to survive this place.

Stay analytical. Stay focused. _Stay alive_.

His brain takes the newfound mantra as an authorisation to go offline and his mouth to find Magnus’ ear. He bites it, licking at the tantalizing snake earcuff that ornates it not only as a reward but for his own pleasure -the thing is maddening, absolutely wicked and Alec might lost his mind if Magnus renounces it one day.

“Now get back to that damn list, I need all my faculties you demon,” Magnus chastises him.

Alec huffs at the choice of word and kiss the top of Magnus’ head, just because.

A few hours later of mind numbing reading and Magnus’ intense typing and low curses, Pangborn brings in lunch. By wordless accords, Alec and Magnus work him for intel by appealing to the first law of spying: _henchmen get bored_.

Alec complains that Magnus put foundation on _his_ face because of the kisses and Magnus goes ballistic, attacking Alec about his caveman ways.

It’s a good show.

“You don’t need to doll up so much for him, he’s already begging for it,” Pangborn offhandedly says as he stuffs his face with a sandwich.

Alec winces, he can’t help it. _Oh boy_. He’s used to be alone in those situations, to have to be patient with the way he handled persons of interest. It’s a thankless, dirty work but Magnus almost make it fun.

Magnus turns his attention to Pangborn and the man seems to realize that he miscalculated big time.

“You think I’m doing it for _him_?” Magnus roars. “That’s… the level of entitlement! The only person that I put on make up for is me!”

Pangborn lowers his sandwich and swallows his mouthful with obvious discomfort, his eyes darts to Alec, seeking help. Alec just give him a “ _dude you didn’t_ ” kind of opened-mouth, shocked expression and Pangborn swallows again, nervous.

“All I was saying was that… that the idiot is head over heels for you,” he mutters.

“Don’t call him an idiot!”

“You called me an idiot last night!” Alec reminds Magnus testily. Inside, he’s barely controlling his laughter.

“Because you couldn’t stay put at the village and had to get yourself captured along with me!” Magnus stands up as he speaks, pacing the room like a caged lion. Looks like he’s not past that still...

“He’s got a point, I would have stayed safe and called for backup,” Pangborn chips in, eyes on his food, but he sounds relieved to be able to come back into Magnus’ good graces, if only so he’s not yelled at.

Alec glares at him.

“See!” Magnus exclaims triumphantly, “I told you you were off your rockers!”

“Don’t agree with our kidnapper, it’s tacky.”

“My god, just fuck your anger away already.” Pangborn rolls his eyes and Alec just knows what’s going to come out of Magnus’ mouth.

“What do you think you were interrupting this morning?” his lover snaps.

Pangborn chokes on his mouthful and grabs at a water bottle.

Alec helpfully pours him some water and watch politely as Morgenstern's minion heaves for breath after downing a glass.

“You okay?” he asks.

Pangborn nods before gesturing some complicated and wordless thank you.

Small gestures, yet it's the ones that stick to mind, that clog the gears in mind trained for violence. Exactly the same strategy he pitched to Magnus earlier: when the door is locked, you get them to open it for you.

“Hey, could I have some cleaning supplies?” Alec asks, turning up the friendliness but he keeps an edge of caution, a wariness that can be trusted, related to. “For my guns, I mean?”

That launches an entire conversation about gun care that ends up on the broader subject of manufacturers. From the corner of his eyes, Alec can see that Magnus went back to work but Pangborn is hooked in their argument (the old Glock vs Sig, something that both Isabelle and Rafa had bored Alec to death about more than once) and the minion stays with them well past the end of their lunch break.

All Alec needs is to endear them enough to the guy, just the right amount to make sure that if he and Magnus are on the wrong side of Pangborn’s gun in the future, the man will hesitate just a second or make a generic _orders are orders_ statement, giving Alec time.

It worked before. Seconds are all he needs.

At some point, someone must’ve shouted at the henchman through his comms, because Pangborn goes stiff and mumbles apologies before clearing the remnant of their lunches and make a vague _see you later_ gesture at Alec.

“He better bring the tea at five sharp,” Magnus grunts, still absorbed by his screens.

“Like it’s an actual thing.”

“ _He_ doesn’t know that. Thanks for the kettle by the way,” Magnus says, referring to Alec’s making Pangborn agree to ask for one for the suite.

“De rien,” Alec answers, accent thick around the words.

He doesn’t quite remember how french began to turn into an inside joke between them but Magnus’ laughs openly, through he continues his typing. Damn multitasking skills.

“How’s that hack going on?”

“Can’t do much until Morgenstern’s men do their part, so I’m tweaking the program a bit. You should get back to that list, I’ll get bored in a hour and I’ll need it.”

“You really love bossing me around…” Alec comments. “Not that I mind,” he adds.

Magnus answers is a noncommittal hum and Alec knows that the hacker is too concentrated on his work to actually pay attention to him.

 

“Where is the food Pangborn? I have a very attractive man to ravish tonight, I can’t do that on an empty stomach,” Magnus loudly reminds to Pangborn, when the man opens the lab door empty-handed at eight.

“Mr. Morgenstern requests you and Mr. Lightwood for dinner,” Pangborn apologizes.

“Oh joy. Will the bleached creep be there?” Magnus asks with disdain. He doesn’t sound surprise by their _host’s_ demand so this might have happened before when Alec was still recovering from his concussion.

Pangborn seems unsettled by the mention of Verlac and shuffles on his feet before nodding to Magnus. Alec realizes with a start that the man is genuinely sorry for them -it’s written all over his posture and face, his eyes shifting away from Alec and Magnus, not quite meeting their eyes.

At least Alec knows that his effort at lunch weren’t for nothing. While Pangborn is busy tidying the empty tea mugs, Magnus smirks at Alec, obviously reaching the same conclusion.

Alec has to shakes himself from thinking too lewdly about the sinful shape of Magnus’ mouth and how it would look stretched over -bloody _hell_. This is absurd, he spent most of the past three years repressing his attraction to Magnus, turning his head into a half functioning mess but now he struggles out of every fantasy Magnus’... everything can conjure.

Absurd.

Ridiculous.

Unprofessional.

“Alexander? You might want to breath a little,” Magnus coos.

When Alec looks up, his lover is biting on his lower lip -damn it- and trying not to laugh. Pangborn is nowhere in the room and the door is opened wide.

God.

“Don’t _Alexander_ me.” His complaint turns into a moan without his permission. Why does Magnus needs to say his name like _that_?

That little sentence backfires the second Magnus releases his lip and cocks one sharp eyebrow at him. The couch should swallow him whole right this second, because he’s suddenly aware how deep in trouble he is.

“Alexander,” Magnus says, taking a step in his direction.

“Ma-”

“Alexander,” he repeats, moving closer to Alec and the couch he is sitting on.

“This is not the ti-”

“Alexander.” Magnus is really close now and he cards his fingers in Alec’s hair, pushing his head back just enough for Alec to expose his neck. “Alexander,” he murmurs again before sliding on his lap and fastening his lips on Alec’s pulse point.

“Magnuuuuuus,” Alec tries to stop him, he really does, but somehow his hands find Magnus’ muscular back and the hem of his shirt. He swears that he wants to make him stop, really, but one hand goes up, along Magnus’ spine and soft skin while the other plays with the top of his boxers that’s peaking above his trousers.

Magnus bites his neck, just a light show of teeth but Alec moans a little too enthusiastically and Magnus laughs, loud and full against his skin and so not appropriate for the situation they’re in.

Before he can do anything - _anything_ \- Magnus slides off his lap and onto the couch, a dreadful expression on his face.

“I hate being reasonable!” he spats, throwing his arms up in the air.

Alec is so off balanced by the sudden change in Magnus that he laughs, laughs until Magnus’ disgruntled face soften and he gives him a kiss, then two, on the lips.

“I need to change. So should you.”

“For what?”

“Dinner with the terrorists, of course.”

 

*****

They barely have time to go back to Magnus’ suite and take a hasty (and perfunctory) shower before finding something appropriate for dinner.

Magnus selects a anthracite italian suit with a waistcoat and a purple tie out of the outrageously big walk-in closet... the structured jacket hugs his arms like sin and Alec is so distracted that he doesn’t pay attention to what Magnus is doing until his lover clears his throat and gestures gracefully at a blue suit with a metallic shine laid on the bed.

“What do you think?” he asks with a huge, proud smile.

“Uh, I like the one you’re wearing better?” Alec says tentatively. In truth, he’s not sure he can take Magnus changing in front of him again without beginning something.

And not _finishing_ it.

Magnus has the audacity to roll his black rimmed eyes (doesn’t he know how savagely attractive he looks right now? How much it’s difficult to think for Alec?) and says with his patented _aren’t you the cutest clueless agent in the whole MI6 agency_ tone, “Yeah, I noticed. This one is for you.”

That gives Alec pause.

“When did Morgenstern have me fitted for a suit?” he hisses -he feels violated at the idea of one of Morgenstern’s minions pawing at him when he was unconscious.

“He didn’t have too, it’s not like I don’t know your measurements.” Magnus spares him the _duh_ but it’s heavily implied by a new eye roll.

“You do?” That’s far less creepy but still odd.

“What? You think that freshly pressed Armani suits just pop out of nowhere during assignments and get delivered to your door? You went through an entire men’s runway show worth of suits for that Paris mission two years ago. I had to order all that… _Agents_ ,” Magnus retorts, a touch of resentment in his voice that Alec wants to kiss better.

Alec doesn’t have anything smart to say to that so he looks down at the suit again and nods.

“It’s nice.”

It’s as nice as Magnus can be deemed passably attractive... a gross underappreciation of the finer things in life. Alec is no fool. He recognizes the exquisite cut of the suit, thanks to his Academy training and some less than savory ‘movie night’ with Izzy and Jace back when they shared a dorm common room.

“That’s a _Brioni_ Vanquish II,” he says offhandedly as he fingers the fabric -starter price $43 000 or so if his memory is correct. Morgenstern really wants Magnus happy if he’s willing to dress him and his plus-one in such beautiful waste of money… as if the handler can be bought so easily.

“Oooh, nothing sexier than a man who knows his clothes,” Magnus says, waggling his eyebrows in a crude way.

“Magnus! They’re all over those godawful James Bond movies!” Alec complains. _It’s ludicrous!_

“Well they do get some stuff right, don’t they?” Magnus beams at him before gesturing to hurry up and get dress while he goes to the bathroom to “work on his hair” -whatever that mean. Alec gets the impression that Magnus knew precisely what he was doing by asking for that suit.

“I can’t believe you’re making me wear the same tailor as bloody Trump!” Alec calls as he passes the trousers, careful of not creasing them wrong. The fabric clings to his arse in ways that his mission suits never did - _bloody Magnus._

“I dare say you look better than that living cheeto,” Magnus answers with a huff before turning on a hair dryer. “As long as you don’t spray tan, you should be good.”

“Noted,” Alec says dryly. The crisp white shirt he buttons up next is a bit just around his shoulders (might be the back muscles he put on when he was living at the cabin) but it’s a dream to wear. Alec sighs a little when he zips his trousers up and pass the belt through the loops, making sure that his shirt is still in place. For all he loves sweatpants and loose fitting t-shirts, a sharp suit is like a second skin to him, familiar in ways that are difficult to put into words but he can breath easier somehow, like he’s more prepared to face Morgenstern and what might comes next in this getup. Not quite an armor, but a uniform nonetheless. The suit can only do so much for his confidence but it helps, making him stand taller, head held higher.

 _Training is kicking in_ , he thinks.

He checks himself in the extravagantly huge mirror, a bit vainly perhaps but it doesn’t matter. Taking pride in his look -not dreading the attention- feels right. Healthy, even… and if Magnus likes what he sees, well... Alec won't object.

The jacket goes on next and yes, Alec can definitively see what Magnus liked in that particular attire.

“Hot damn!” Magnus half shouts behind Alec.

Alec turns around and Magnus is in the doorway, staring at him with a kind of daze that gets Alec warm all over and knots his stomach something awful.

“Hot damn yourself,” Alec says with a smile. Magnus did something to his hair alright. He might have buzzed it a little (how? He was in the bathroom for less than five minutes?), accentuating the fade on the side of his head and whipped the longer hair on the top in a sexy wave with product, peppering it with some glitter. “You’re trying to woo Morgenstern or what?”

“Ah yes, after all the efforts he put into this,” Magnus frowns, as if looking for the right words, “I just know he fancies me,” he finally says, making a face like he just tasted something icky.

“Oh I see how it is,” Alec teases, stepping right in front of Magnus and like this, he has to look down and that makes him smirk; Magnus as a way of commanding a room with his entire being and it’s somehow silly that his eyes are level with Alec’s mouth. “I’ll have to step up my game then,” he adds, tone teasing and eyes doing the same as he roams them over Magnus’ face hungrily.

 _God_ , how he’s already so lost to Magnus -and he _just_ got him.

Magnus snorts, “feel free to kidnap me away from this place as soon as possible, darling.”

_If only._

“You’re ready?”

“No,” Magnus says before standing on his toes to kiss Alec.

If he planned for a quick kiss, it’s not hard to sway him to deepen it and to get him to follow Alec’s hungry lead.

“I’m,” a nip on his bottom lip, “shedding glit _teeeer,_ ” a moan, “on you…” Magnus warns without conviction.

“War paint…” Alec doesn't mind being covered in Magnus anyway.

“We’re going to be late with your antics.” Magnus might be ‘complaining’ but Alec can feel the flex of his mouth curving as he smiles into the kiss, the flick of his tongue when he deepens it. “And I’m all about being fashionably late but c’mon… super vilains…”

“He kidnapped us… I’m sure he can suffer a little lack of enthusiasm from us to see him.”

“Oh I can feel your _enthusiasm_ alright, Mr. Lightwood,” Magnus assures, shamelessly rutting one thigh against Alec’s crotch. “But no dice Woody, Morgenstern awaits.”

Alec’s shoulders sags as reality catches up with him.

“I’ll give ya a proper shagging later then,” Alec says hotly, nipping once at Magnus’ earcuff, refusing to let go.

“Sha- Alexander!” Magnus sounds scandalized at Alec’s words and tone.

Alec smirks and continues his ministrations, nipping lower at Magnus’ earlobe before kissing his way down his jawline. It’s part revenge for earlier and the _Alexander_ teasing and part for himself. Who wouldn’t want to revere every inches of Magnus’ skin? Who would deprive themselves from it if the privilege was offered?

An idiot, that’s who. Alec is fully aware that he has a lot to make up for.

Before Alec can do more though,  Magnus proves that he has more self control that he lets on and detaches himself from Alec, crossing the room quickly and points at the door with an imperious expression on his face.

“Now!” he moans, sounding less steady than he looks, before charging out of the room.

Alec sighs heavily and follows him.

 

*****

It takes then half an hour on foot to cross the compound to where Morgenstern lives. Magnus knows the way and explains that he dined with the man twice already since they were taken from the cabin.

Alec can’t help but catalogue everything around him, from the path with its three different checkpoints to the position of every structure they come across. The map in his head is subpar and he wishes that he could draw it, with Magnus’ input, without risking getting it seen by anyone keeping an eye on them.

Morgenstern lives in a bloody mansion in the middle of a well-lit, manicured lawn; a strange choice since it's surrounded by a training camp. Leading by example is obviously not Morgenstern’s cup of tea.

“Any last minute advice?” Alec asks to Magnus as a group of guards advances on them to pat them down (nevermind that they have been searched at every checkpoint already).

“Don’t use the wrong fork,” Magnus quips nervously. “We don’t want to look like peasants.”

Alec chuckles and holds his arms above his head, letting an guard check him for weapons. It’s ridiculous that he’s allowed two guns and a knife everywhere else but not in the most secured place in the base.

Once the guards are satisfied, Magnus and Alec are led inside the mansion, to a lavish dining room where Morgenstern and Verlac are sitting at a grand table, one of those that could easily accommodate ten people without trouble. Morgenstern is seated at the head of the table, with his son at his right, looking like a king of some sort. Both of them are dressed impeccably, only a little less colorfully or daringly than Alec and Magnus.

“Ah, Mr. lightwood, Mr. Bane, glad you could make it in time,” Morgenstern greets them with what Alec thinks is supposed to be a warm smile. The illusion would be perfect if he didn’t already know what a cold snake was hiding beneath. Verlac, on the other hand, doesn’t even acknowledge them, too busy scrolling down a tablet with an air of extreme importance.

Alec nods as politely as he can while Magnus answers with a fake smile before sitting across from Verlac, at Morgenstern’s left, leaving Alec to sit next to him.

“I always make a point of stopping work at meal time,” Morgenstern says conversationally. “Today people just inhale their food without so much looking at it. Makes for poor mood and stomach ache, a pity really.” He throws a glance at his son, frowning disapprovingly “Sebastian, please.”

“I’m happy to be excused if I’m cramping your style, father.” The younger man doesn’t look up from his tablet, just bringing a glass of wine to his mouth, blindy, before continuing his reading. A practiced gesture, one to exude nonchalance and superiority.

If they didn’t get the same teachers, Alec and Verlac got the same lessons.

Morgenstern huffs loudly, before taking the tablet from Verlac and tossing it away on the far end of the table, well past where Alec is seated. Verlac glares at him but somehow manage to hold his tongue, even his expression is enough to make Alec’s hands twitch for his guns.

“What do you want? Our chefs are the best,” Morgenstern inquires, plaisant again, to Magnus and Alec. With a sharp gesture, he orders someone in the room and a man dressed like a butler enters, deferent eyes on the floor.

Magnus asks the waiter for a italian dish, strozzasomething with chicken and onions sauce.

Alec feigns reflexion for a second. “Something typically Bolivian for me please,” he says before turning toward Morgenstern with an amiable smile “I always make a point of testing the local cuisine when I visit a new country.”

If Morgenstern is surprised by Alec's deduction, he doesn't show it. Verlac and Magnus are more easy to read.

“What are you talking about?” Magnus asks at the same time that Verlac rises from his seat menacingly. "How the hell did you know that?” he snarls.

“Wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but thanks for the confirmation,” Alec nods to Verlac in gratitude and offhandedly says to Morgenstern, “you should really teach him to handle that temper of his, no poker face to speak of compared to yours.”

It’s a gamble to be so bold but Alec would be a fool not to try to drive the evident wedge between Morgenstern and his son. The former spy smiles at him wolfishly and Alec has the impression he just performed as expected, like a well trained circus dog walking on his front paws.

Of course. Morgenstern knows all the tricks in the book. Hell, he probably wrote some of it.

“Altitude, constellations and some basic intel on Verlac Inc, isn't it?” Morgenstern asks politely. By a small gesture of the hand, he dismisses the waiter -his and Verlac’s food must have already been discussed.

Alec shrugs, “terrain too.”

“Most people’s guess is the Gobi desert. Blackwell thought this was Australia,” Morgenstern says with an eye roll.

“Yes, geography is... fascinating,” Magnus scoffs from behind his white wine.

“This doesn't look one bit like the satellite pictures of the deep space observatory this place is supposed to be,” Alec points out. Across from him, Verlac is looking sourer by the second.

Morgenstern smiles.

“I don't have to explain to you how easy it is to bribe the people who command those satellites.”

“And the Bolivian government?”

“Extremely happy with the intel that I offered them a few years back and continue to supply. Get them to weigh down more comfortably in international discussions.” He’s so damn smug, it could be sipping out of his pores.

“So they let you run a boot camp on their territory?”

“A good third of the students are Bolivians. Quid pro quo, Alec. Of course they won't see a single spy when we're finished, but Bolivia doesn't need to know that,” Morgenstern answers easily.

“The Circle doesn’t need something as pesky as nationality,” Verlac adds, playing with a knife now. Trying to render Alec and Magnus nervous perhaps?

Alec is still trying to read Verlac’s body language and piece together an evaluation of it when Magnus chokes on his drink. He coughs in a napkin for a moment, under Morgenstern’s mildly concern gaze and Verlac’s eye roll.

“Magnus?” Alec asks.

Magnus holds out a hand, demanding a second to compose himself. “The Circle?” he gasps, before coughing again.

What.

What does that has to do with anything?

Alec frowns but suddenly Verlac’s words hits him. The Circle. He and Morgenstern _are_ the Circle.

“Prague,” Alec murmures. Shit, that mission had been a wild ride to say the least.

“Ah yes, I believe I never actually took responsibility for that unpleasant event. Some of my men that escaped the ballroom ID’ed a british gentleman -young, hazel eyes and quite tall- showing them hell…” he gazes at Alec, calculating, “never could understand what went wrong that day. The MI6 servers were no help, so I concluded that the agency had not been involved but…” he smiles to himself, like he’s reminiscing the good old days, “I should have know better. Tell me, did your mother had the mission scrubbed from the Archives?” Morgenstern doesn’t wait for Alec to answer and immediately adds “of course, she wouldn’t want anyone asking too many questions about the Circle or who came up with that name...”

Magnus looks at Alec, a small twitch to his eye.

“Maryse gave very specific orders after the fiasco,” he says. God… his mother’s twitchiness, her febrile resolution at running the operation with a skeleton crew… shit. She knew. She bloody knew who was to blame for that auction.

“Oh. What happened? It costed me a hefty penny… We couldn’t retrieve half the diamonds we were due.”

Alec fakes a wince, before _divulging_ through gritted teeth “FSB tried something. Ended up with a punctured stomach, broken ribs and more importantly, losing the diamonds. Mother was embarrassed… at least that what she said to justify erasing the mission log.” He flexed his jaw, like he’s still sour, like he might be swayed to take revenge.

“Uh, russians… Always ruining everyone's fun,” Morgenstern sighs. “Your mother was always so worried about her precious reputation.”

“Her son is incompetent, I would worry about that too.” Verlac’s words are cutting but Alec tries to show more pain than he feels at them; it’s not that hard with the education he had. It’s all about looking as small and weak as you can, especially with people like Verlac -his father is another breed entirely.

“A worry that I mostly don’t have,” Morgenstern comments drily, arching a brow at his son.

_Shunk!_

Verlac stabs a knife on the table, fuming. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let go of the knife handle, but the two have a long -if silent- conversation. Under the table, Magnus reaches for Alec’s hand, seeking comfort. The tension in the dining room is extreme and Alec is expecting a fight to break between father and son.

The waiter chooses that moment to re-enter the room, pushing a food cart with huge silver cloches and more bottles of wine. Morgenstern is the first to react and gesture for dinner to be served but Alec sees the dirty look that Verlac throws at his father.

Either that can be weaponized against the two terrorists or Alec is looking at his death; if Verlac snaps and kills Morgenstern, Alec is next as he’s actually not needed in their grand plan.

Strangely enough, no one tries to kill anyone at the dinner table.

The waiter places some kind of roasted chicken, red with sauce in front of Verlac; a huge, rare steak with a strong smelling dressing of cheesy sauce and potatoes for Morgenstern and a pasta dish for Magnus.

Alec, who ordered blind, is confronted with a mountain of food. The waiter announced it as _Pique a lo macho_ before leaving the room. Alec grabs his fork and rolls some pieces of beef around in his plate. He can feel his stomach groans his hunger at the sight of all the meat, colorful peppers and fries.

_God yes._

Magnus huffs beside him and when Alec glances in his direction, the man his looking fondly at Alec, patting his own stomach discreetly before smirking. Jesus, he must have heard Alec’s belly cry for food.

Both of them concentrate on their plate, eating slowly and, at least on Alec’s end, unwilling to pick up the conversation. Small talk is tedious enough already without having to factor in that the wrong word could get them killed.

Unfortunately, Morgenstern is a talker. Alec is wearing a James Bond suit, having dinner in a mansion right in the middle of a secret spy boot camp with an international terrorist and a MI6 transfuge. Of course, he won’t get away with a silent meal. It not even small talk, not even the damn weather. The older man just dived into the old and nasty history of his defection.

“Your parents never told you about me, did they?”

Alec pauses from taking a bit of the excellent beef in his plate and shakes his head in the negative.

“I don’t think either of them was authorized to even think about their past,” Alec answers wrylly. Of course, the truth might be more sinister, but he’d rather not think about it.

“It’s my understanding that Luke had a separate arrangement, that he was the first one to _talk_ ,” he spats the word and for a moment, Alec just stares, mute with fear, as the fury in Morgenstern slowly cools down, his composure slipping back in place like well-fitted coat. “But at that point, my brother wasn’t someone I trusted anymore, he was out of the loop, hence your parents managing to… keep their heads. Luke sounded the alarm, so to speak and your parents gave out the details. I must say that Maryse didn’t impress me back then... She was my right hand when Luke failed to deliver better results, but she got caught -sentiment, such a useless emotion. You and your unborn sister would have been _fine_. She talked and talked and talked, made a deal with the council and the former M, gave a lot of names to insure her freedom. Some of the other traitors just vanishned, conveniently leaving her and your father as the only survivors. The Whitelaws, Hodge Starkweather, even Herondale's son were crushed under your mother’s will to survive -I doubt that your adoptive brother would be happy to learn that one, so let's keep it a little secret, shall we?” Morgenstern says to Alec, like he has any choice in the matter. “The nerve she had to assassinate 002 and then raise his son as her own… downright sickening.”

Alec doesn’t know what to do with this information. Everyone is looking at him like they expect a reaction (Magnus’ face showing worry while their captors’ only let on the barest interest) but he just can’t articulate his thoughts, or what he's suppose to do with them.

Hodge is a vague but kind face from his childhood, never seen again after a his third birthday. Any mention of his name would trigger a storm of shouts from his mother and turn his father into a muted statue. The Whitelaws are spoken about with deep respect in the MI6, as all fallen agents are, but the details of their end were unknown, privy to only people with a high security clearance level.

Then there’s Stephen Herondale, Jace’s biological father. Jace’s been digging into his murder for years without success since he was told he was adopted. His grandmother has been claiming ignorance for years, making noise about a mission gone wrong, followed by the suicide of Jace's mother.

And now Morgenstern is implying that Maryse did all of that. Blood on her hands, ice in her heart and absolute calm in her head. Alec can see her perfectly, killing her own friends to survive.

“M -Mrs Herondale- wouldn't have let that happen…” he says finally. Defending his mother isn’t his goal but there is no logic behind Morgenstern’s accusations. It had always struck him as strange that Jace had been adopted by his parents, especially after seeing for himself the open hatred and loathing between Maryse, Robert and Imogen Herondale. The MI6 leader would have killed his parents in an instant if she knew about their past transgressions, if she even suspected that her son had been took away from her by Maryse of all the people.

“She didn’t have a choice. M might control the MI6, but other people control her; People that Maryse had spied on for years with me. She knew who to blackmail to keep her head right on her shoulders. Why do you think she was given the control of the double-o program after she was arrested for treason? MI6 doesn’t reward high treason with promotion.”

Alec just… breathes. Counts to ten in his head, swallows the hundreds of questions he has swarming in his head and nod, curtly, to Morgenstern. This is just smoke and mirrors. Perhaps it’s true -it _feels_ true- perhaps it’s a lie -god knows how much he wants it to be- but it doesn’t matter, it’s a diversion. Morgenstern wants Alec to doubt, to be concerned, to squirm around and expose a soft spot, something that could be pierced and _hooked on_. Something more than Magnus to tether him down.

A careful move but also one that reveal his unfathomable ego. Like the man actually believe he can convince Alec with the right weapons.

“We also know everything on little Magnus here,” Verlac says with glee, cutting in. He looks downright happy, a gleam in his eyes like a maniac with an axe might have.

“Ah yes,” Morgenstern says wryly, taking a glass of red wine to his lips. “Your criminal past was quite the dramatic read.”

Alec is ready to scoff, to call Morgenstern a fool; his mother’s past crimes he can believe -as hurtful as they might be- but Magnus? _Magnus?_ A criminal… talk about farfetched. But when he turns to look at Magnus, to share an affronted look with him, the man is carefully avoiding his eyes, looking down at his plate. Alec can read the tension in his shoulders, the way his lover is working his jaw stiffly.

_Soft skin exposed. Hooked._

“Magnus?” Alec tries gently to attract his attention but Magnus tenses even more.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know?” Morgenstern asks, surprise evident in his voice.

Alec doesn’t have time to think of the right answer -on if he can afford to look out of the loop in front of this people- before Magnus’ head shoots up and he’s frowning at Alec in incomprehension.

“You’ve read my file Alec, I know you did.”

Alec blushes despite the lack of anger or disappointment in Magnus’ tone. He should have know that Magnus had been notified when Alec requested his file after Rome.

“I-I just wanted to... know your name,” he says, stumbling on his words.

He had read the whole thing of course, but nothing even hinted at a parking ticket, let alone a crime that would provoke this kind of reaction from Magnus, Morgenstern _and_ Verlac. He says as much and his words are met with stunned silence by the three men.

Verlac is the first to recover and fakes nausea before downing his wine.

“Isn’t that cute? Lightwood is so useless he didn’t ask for the unredacted file of his little crush… You know what father? You should organize them a little wedding; Pangborn can officiate, it will be dandy.”

Magnus is looking at Alec a mix of fondness and exasperation under his eyelashes and Alec mouths a quick apology.

“That’s very… honorable of you, not to use your privileges as your mother’s son to access more sensible information,” Morgenstern says carefully. “So if I say _Charles Pemberly junior_ , you have no clue of who that is?”

Alec shakes his head but he sees Magnus’ reaction to the name from the corner of his eye, how he flinches like he heard a gunshot. His face is pale and his mouth is reduced to a tense line.

“Lord Charles Asmodeus Pemberly Sr. then, former CEO of Asmodeus Industries, defence contractor and philanthropist? His wife, Lilith Edom? Not ringing any bell?” Morgenstern sounds baffled. “Interesting.”

The company name brings forth something in Alec’s memories, something in Prague during the auction but that thing had went on and on and Alec had paid far less attention to it that he should have.

“I don’t care-”

“Sordid affair,” Morgenstern cuts Alec, “someone as smart as you never thought that _Magnus Bane_ sounded made up? Ragnor Fell? Catarina Loss? Most of the current handlers at MI6 are young idealistic people -hacktivists if you will- that misstepped and got caught… How old were you Charles?”

Magnus flinches again. “Fifteen,” he answers through gritted teeth.

“Fifteen! Now, that’s dedication. See Alec, Charles Pemberly Sr. was a bit of a pig.” Morgenstern cuts his medium rare steak into pieces, dripping sauce into the plate and takes a bite before continuing. “You wouldn’t believe the number of mistresses, bastards and skeletons in his closet. Sad story short, Magnus’ mother was one young pretty girl and, well, she fell pregnant -as young pretty girls often do. A few years down the line, she had the audacity to force the father to recognize the kid -damn,” he says, eyes rolling in pleasure, “that’s is a mean steak! Went as good for her as you can imagine. But he did adopt the child in the end. The scandal it was! So many prejudiced people in british aristocracy.”

“Poor thing, being spoiled like a king, really I might cry,” Verlac says with contempt.

“What a dreadful thing to say Sebastian! Yourself without your mother, you should know better,” Morgenstern chastises, a dark shadow in his eyes when he speaks of Jocelyn. “Anyway. Magnus here got older and quite turbulent. Hacked into Asmodeus Industries accounts and robbed them blind, flooding the money into charities around the world; exposed one or two backdoor negotiations which didn’t please important people -MI6, as a matter of fact, was part of those people. But it didn’t worked out quite right, did it?”

Magnus is so pale, Alec thinks he might topple over in a faint.

“I didn’t account for the repercussions.” Magnus looks ashamed and Alec’s hand is halfway to Magnus’ shoulder to comfort him but the other man stops him with a warning look.

“That’s right. Hundreds and hundreds of people lost their jobs, some of them killed themselves in despair. Your father didn’t even feet a scratch on him and just retired in, what was it, Majorca?”

“Yes.”

“And then it gets interesting,” Morgenstern sounds like he’s really enjoying this and Alec has to turn away from him or he’ll do something stupid. Looking at Magnus, though, is worst as Alec notices the way his hands are clutching at the edge of the table, his knuckles white under the force. “The security system of the villa just… crashed down. Three days later, Pemberly and his wife were found dead by their maid. MI6 just knew it was him.” Morgenstern gestures at Magnus with his knife, not disturbed in the slightest by his words, before resuming his meal.

“I didn’t kill them,” Magnus objects, eyes riveted on Alec’s.

Alec minutely nodes.  

“No, you just provided someone with the opportunity. But who could blame you? Your poor mother.”

“Does that technically make you a lord?” Verlac inquires, “or does the patricide cancel that out?”

Magnus doesn’t answer and Verlac smirks.

“I think that we should go now,” Alec says before anyone can add anything else. He doesn’t care if Morgenstern will take that as rudeness, barely registering his still growling stomach, he just knows he has to end this diner right the fuck now.

Their host looks taken aback by his demand but simply shrug and Alec quickly rises and help Magnus up, locking their hands together and leading him out of the mansion as fast as possible, not caring about how weak and soft they might appear.

“I didn't kill them,” Magnus says adamantly the second they’re out of Morgenstern’s mansion.

“Yeah I know.”

“No you don't.” Magnus clings desperately to Alec’s forearm, as if he’s scared that Alec is running away from him. “I didn't do it, the security hack wasn't me. I was trying to work through what I was responsible for, not trying to put more blood on my hands,” he says.

“Okay,” Alec doesn’t quite smile, but he tries to be as reassuring as he can. “I trust you.”

“The MI6 didn't believe me.”

Alec laughs, it’s a terrible sound to his own ears, devoid of humor or life.

“Course they didn't. They probably just pretended to have leverage over you. Hell, they probably killed the Pemberlys themselves if he was dealing with them for weapons, just to make sure he wouldn't talk.”

‘Herondale would do that in her sleep,” Magnus agrees but his hands are still clutching to Alec’s sleeve and hand.

“Now come, day's over,” Alec decides. God knows they both need some form of relaxation after the day -hell, _the week_ \- they had. He takes Magnus’ hand from his forearm and bring it to his lips, kissing it. “Oh, and this? doesn't change a thing between you and I.”

Magnus seems unconvinced for a minute and Alec forces himself to remain silent and calm, to give Magnus the time to process his words and to accept them.

“How?” he asks, frowning.

“Okay I think you already know. You thought that all that time we knew each other, I knew about Charles Pemberly Jr. and that I had no problems with it. Nothing changed. I love you, aristocrat or not. You were an angry kid with too much brain and not enough control. You could have done way worse that tanking your father's company.”

“People died,” he says like it’s still haunting him after a decade.

“Yes, yes they did,” Alec agrees gently. “How many people died because of me, Magnus? Not the ones that I directly killed but in consequences? I am not saying that what you did was okay. It wasn't, I won’t lie about that. But I did worse and also better. And so did you.”

 

*****

Taking a shower with Magnus is probably the best thing that happened to Alec in the longest time. Magnus is _naked_ and wet and bubbly and Alec is authorized -encouraged, even- to touch, to take, to _give_...

It’s just Magnus really, his content smile, the way he cants his head back when Alec pours shampoo on his hair to help him get the glitter out (he doubts it’s possible). They’re silent under the water, even when Alec is knitting the back of Magnus’ neck and his shoulders, patiently working the stiffness out of the muscles -silent but for the little moans of relief Magnus breathes out…

It’s, _damn_ . Erotic, maddening, sinful, all that and more and Alec never wants to stops, never wants to do anything else than Magnus, _than pleasing Magnus_ and basking in the sounds of him.

Magnus does stop him in the end, a determinate look on his face when he turns around and pushes his fingers into Alec’s wet hair, tangles them and tugs his head down to kiss him, hungry and breathless and…

“Bed,” Alec begs into the kiss, struggling to articulate the word around Magnus’ tongue, with Magnus’ hand still in his hair and the other, branding, on his hip.

Magnus doesn’t seem to understand and grunts against whatever he thinks he just heard, rooting himself and Alec under the water stream.

“Magnus,” Alec tries again, firmer this time but still as breathless. “ _Bed_.”

The reaction is immediate and Magnus moans, shameless and perfect and nods enthusiastically, rubbing their erections together; mumbling _hurry_ and _now_ like Alec is the one stopping them.

They stumble out of the shower, Alec nearly braining himself when he slips on the tiles. Magnus catches him, as always, before throwing a fluffy towel on his head. Ignoring the satisfying friction when he passes the towel over his junk, Alec chuckles and dries his skin as fast as he can.

Without surprise, Magnus is staring at him, eyes half opened and fluttering from his shoulders to his thighs and cock to his mouth again, staying there a heartbeat longer and biting his bottom lip, before closing his eyes and exhaling like someone in _pain_.

Alec gets it. Feels it too. Love can do that sometimes. That feeling of too much and not enough, of craving and needing, of being scared by the deepness of your affection.

“Magnus,” he calls gently, amazed that he can say his name like this, needy and honest. He takes a step forwards when Magnus doesn’t reopens his eyes and take his face in his hands, nudging away the wet hair plastered on his forehead. Magnus looks impossibly younger like this. “I love you so much.”

Magnus hums and opens his eyes, finding Alec’s immediately. “I love hearing you say that. I love you too.”

There is no time lost after that. A small peck on the lips and Alec hauls Magnus in his arms, carrying him out of the bathroom, naked and still wet, to the bedroom.

Magnus beams at him when he realizes their destination and pats him on the bicep. “Seriously too hot,” he comments when Alec puts him on the bed and crawls on top of him, straddling his thighs. “This is very good practice for a real vacation. You, me, no kidnapping. Big bed. We’ll have a blast.” He pushes off the bed and wounds his arms around Alec’s neck, smirking.

“You forget that I’m a danger magnet, I’ll get in, uh, trouble.” God, Magnus is pretty up close, wet and make-up free. Pretty enough for a guy to lose a bit of sense just looking at him.

“Oh, you’ll get in trouble _with me_ if you don’t fuck me this instant Alexander.”

Alec shakes his head, laughing, before he says “I can do that.”

He starts slowly, kissing his way down Magnus’ sharp jaw, sucking at his adam apple for a while -talk about original sin- and he’s rewarded by Magnus bucking underneath him, by his hands trying to drag his arse closer so their erect cocks can touch.

“You’re impatient,” Alec comments against Magnus’ skin, nipping here and there noncommittally as he tries to find the spot he discovered this morning, the one that forced a _wail_ out of Magnus.

“Haven’t we waited enough?” Magnus counteracts. “Because I… I-I…” he falters.

Alec stops biting at his neck immediately, alarmed, and turns his head back to see Magnus’ face.

"I kept wondering..." Magnus starts and stops again.

"What?" Alec is worried by how quickly Magnus, so warm and loose against him a second before, turns rigid.

"Just... When I was your handler, sometimes I could easily see us together, as clear as day. I'm _not_ talking about sex -not just, at least,” he amends with a small smile. “But I..."

Alec kisses Magnus' shoulder to urge him to continue when he loses his voice again.

"Sometimes I worried that you didn't actually liked me that much. Or at all really. That it was just your PTSD talking and that you latched on the first unobtainable person and carried on with a steady weight around your feet. I know better now but… I guess it’s something that I needed to say."

Alec’s breath catches in his throat at the pain still in Magnus’ voice, at the certitude that he was nothing to Alec but an anchor in self-hate _for two long years._ That hurt won’t disappear overnight, but he certainly can try and ease out the ache.

“You remember Rome?" he asks, voice strained with emotion.

"Difficult to forget. Never had a field agent coming out on me before," Magnus answers slowly, brows knitting in obvious confusion.

Alec chuckles. He can actually chuckle about it now. Amazing.

"I wanted you then. It wasn't my PTSD talking. You made me laugh and you were smart and sharp and... God, I dreamt about your voice before leaving," he confesses, hiding his blushing face into the hollow of Magnus’ throat.

"I wasn't giving you a tour of Rome in that dream, was I?" Magnus inquires, some of the tension slipping out of his body.

Alec can't help but to get closer and caresses Magnus' shoulder, his strong back and down his spine.

"No. Damn, your voice stuck with me for hours after the end of the mission. I could barely think over it."

"What did I _do_ in that dream?" Magnus is breathless now, demanding.

Alec smiles against Magnus' neck, kissing his hairline before he answers by blowing a loud raspberry on the side of Magnus' neck.

Magnus giggles, tries to playfully get away but Alec perseveres and tickles his sides, pushing him smoothly against the bed before following him, skin on skin from mouths to feet. Alec can’t appreciate the moment for long though, because Magnus flips them effortlessly around, reversing their positions, the cleft of his arse just riding Alec’s cock.

That’s some damn move and Alec wets his lips in appreciation, rocking his aching cock up to convey his thanks. The position brings him back to the cabin; how beautiful Magnus had looked in that light.

“Do you have lube? Condoms?” he asks, realizing too late he should have made sure of it before. They hadn’t need them this morning and the question hadn’t been his priority through the day.

Magnus nods and stretches back toward the bedside table, torso twisted in a way that speaks loudly of flexibility. Yeah, Alec’s mouth doesn’t water. At all.

Condom and lube retrieved (thank you Morgenstern… ?), Magnus lowers his face to Alec’s for a  filthy and open-mouthed kiss, robbing him of his breath before going down, a trail of liquid fire on Alec’s collarbone, warm fingers quick to touch lumpy scar tissues whenever his lips finds some. Through the haze of pleasure, Alec is aware of Magnus' hands, how they are getting a bit shaky as the exploration goes... so many scars, so many occasion where Alec escaped death, barely.

“I’m okay,” he promises. Not for long, not for sure. But right now he _is_.

Magnus nods against his navel. He goes further down, lips ghosting for a few seconds over Alec’s cock, his balls -someone whines, Alec isn’t sure who, him, Magnus, both? Doesn’t matter- and just gone, following his left thigh down to his knee, fingers lingering, breath difficult for a moment.

Alec is about to say something again, to reassure Magnus that he’s here with him and not in some dirty basement in Seoul, getting tortured. However, Magnus seems to realize it on his own as he stands up on his knees and announces:

“I never believed that I could love someone as much I as love you. And I certainly had difficulties imagining that _you_ would let me. Yet, here we are. Alive. This is everything I ever wanted,” he looks around, at the room, and grimaces “even if the setting leave much to be desired, you don’t. We don’t.”

His hands are soft on Alec’s pecs, thumbing absently at his chest hair, but his eyes are riveted on Alec’s.

“God, please stop me, because if you don’t I’ll be writing sonnets in a minute and no one wa-” Alec stops Magnus by rolling them, again, ending up on top. “Oh, careful now Alexander. We’re a inch away from falling from the bed and embarrassing sex injuries.”

Alec shrugs at his giggling lover and settles on the side a second, just the time to grab Magnus’ thigh and put it around his waist. Magnus makes a appreciative sound that directly goes to Alec’s cock, and immediately spreads his legs around Alec to give him better access and, _bloody fuck_ , a magnificent view.

Magnus looks at him, smug and unrepentant, and pops his hips up, letting Alec scrambles to get a pillow under him.

“You’re a menace,” he murmurs, uncapping the lube blindly, eyes glued to Magnus in full display in front of him. Alec isn’t a saint, far from it. He imagined this a thousand times before and thousands of variations since he first laid eyes on Magnus.

Magnus only hums, one hand caressing down his own chest, down to his happy trail to his cock, pumping it a few times, back arching gracefully. All Alec can do is pant, hand probably gripping Magnus thigh too hard to be comfortable.

“Are you going to wa-aaaatch me all night?” Magnus asks, the itch in his breath and the hunger in his eyes testifying of the raw need inside of him.

“I like what I see.” Understatement. “You’re fine in this position?” he checks.

“Believe me, I’m _fine_. Could be finer, but that would involve you- YES!”

Alec barely touched his cock, tentative fingers caressing the tip, spreading the precome around, down to the shaft, to his balls, past them, following his taint and stopping at his entrance. He glanced at Magnus’ face, searching for any second thought there but finds none.

“I beg of you, Alexander, don’t fucking stop.”

Alec answered by taking his hand away (which Magnus protests loudly) and putting some lube in his hands, taking his time to warm it a bit and spreading it on all his fingers.

“So much impatience. I want to do this right,” he murmurs, putting his index back to Magnus’ entrance, this time gently prodding at the soft skin. It’s easy to slip the tip of his finger, then the first knuckles inside and Alec smiles, mind getting away from him and cock trembling at the thought of being _inside_ Magnus.

His plan is to go slow but Magnus can’t muster any restrain and just thrusts his hips as Alec is working him open, the finger going in hard and fast, to Magnus’ absolute delight if his answering moan is reliable.

“Magnus!” Alec tries to chastise him but fails miserably, his entire body tensing up as he feels Magnus clench around his finger.

“One more please?” the devil asks, hips working in a lazy circle.

Alec is too hungry himself to refuse his demand and adds a second fingers, soon pumping in and out at a nice rhythm, Magnus’ whines and soft moans as a compass. It’s not long before he has three fingers inside Magnus, his lover shaking his head from side to side every time Alec grazes at his prostate like he's possessed.

The sheets are a mess, Magnus pulling at them, bunching them in his fingers when Alec takes hold of his cock as well, working it at a different rhythm than his fingers, jerking him hard, unwilling to tease.

“Stooop, ple- _please_ I need… I need you,” his lover begs, so gorgeous that Alec longs for a camera to immortalize the moment.

“Okay okay,” he reassures Magnus, slowly stopping what he’s doing, caressing Magnus’ abs, his sides and thighs to calm him.

He quickly puts on the condom and after a last meaningful look at Magnus’ face, he thrusts inside, slow at first, then all the way and back, rolling his hips a little to enjoy the pressure around his cock that renders him speechless.

Magnus grabs at him, at his shoulder, moving his hips to meet his thrusts, eyes wide open and staring into Alec’s soul -at least until Alec manages to find his prostate again, adjusting his angle to relentlessly hit it. Magnus’s eyes flutter, roll back and he’s arching again, beautiful and sensual, moaning so deep it seems to come from his core.

“You’re so beautiful Mag’, ah, so beauti- I love you so much!” Alec hears himself say.

Magnus doesn’t answer, not with words at least, but tugs Alec down to meet him in a messy kiss. God does he loves Magnus’ stubble, the way it feels on his cheeks, on his mouth.

He feels his orgasm comes before long, which isn’t a surprise with the savage rhythm they’re maintaining. It starts deep in his belly, a brutal pressure, rising well past the bearable to finish as  whine against Magnus’ mouth and shooting up his balls to his cock, hard and unforgiving.

He screams, that much he’s pretty sure about, but as lost as he is to his pleasure, he feels it more than hears it.

He pants for a moment, still thrusting inside Magnus as his feels himself softens. Reluctantly, he pulls off, Magnus a vision of debauchery underneath him and smiling like a loon. Alec gets rid of the condom and trails kisses down Magnus’ chest, down his pubic hair and up his cock before swallowing it whole, just because he can, just because he _wants_. Magnus rewards him with a shout and bucking a bit, out of control, but Alec rides it easily, sucking at the cock in his mouth, relishing the taste of Magnus, the way his hips quivers under his palms.

“Lec… Aaah!”

Alec sucks harder, one hand going back to Magnus’ arse, thrusting three fingers inside him again, fumbling around a second to find his prostate.

“Alec, Alec, Alec,” Magnus chants, eyes squeezed shut, once Alec hits the right spot. “So go- _uh_ -d.”

 _Yes_ , Alec thinks, _it is_.

Magnus comes a few seconds later, loud and unrestrained.

*

Alec rearranges the cover around himself and Magnus, eyes half shut and feeling exhausted -the right kind of exhaustion, though. Magnus is sleeping already, faintly snoring against Alec’s side.

A kiss (three) on the forehead later and Alec kills the lights, sinking in his pillow and into Magnus’ embrace, getting as close as he can, legs tangled together. Magnus grumbles in his sleep, one arm tightening around his chest like he’s worried Alec might disappear.

“Yeah, me too,” Alec murmurs to his lover.

He’s getting them out of here, _no matter what._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _You Know My Name_ by Chris Cornell  
>  Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments show appreciation <3


	2. And they'd better know why I'm gonna make them pay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Hourra!

Magnus wakes up with a start, nearly shooting out of bed and stumbling face first onto the floor. Luckily, he rights himself at the last moment, clutching the decorative curtains and pants heavily into the fabric for an uncertain amount of time.

He sighs and sits back on the bed blindly, feeling far too cold and clammy at the same time. _Bloody nightmares_. He takes a few calming breaths -like he practiced- before looking over his shoulder to see if he woke Alexander up but even in the darkness, he can see that the other side of the bed is empty.

For a dreadful second, Magnus is persuaded he dreamt it all. No Alec… god, a _dead_ Alec, burnt or shot or simply left to rot on the forest floor. Alec gone, never there, never in that lab near Balmoral, never back from Cabo. Never saying that he loves Magnus, never there to hear that _he’s loved right back_. Magnus, all alone and trembling with ghosts. Lost.

Then Magnus calms down and drives out the last remnants of the nightmare away, unclutching its ice cold fingers from his throat and heart. There’s also the mild soreness in his arse to consider.... by no means _that_ can be the product of his sad imagination and not the result of his and Alexander’s vigorous lovemaking last night.

 _Yes,_ that _definitely happened_ **,** he smiles, cheeks and heart warming furiously as he remembers every trusts, every moans and looks. He had been wary about sex with Aletxander, not for his sake but for his lover’s. Magnus had had the luxury to be free to give his affection to whomever he liked and to walk away from people that made him uncomfortable or were just not that interesting. Alexander, on the other hand, had spent the better part of his career as a double-o bedding as many men as MI6 saw fit.

Magnus had expected some hesitation, hell, some reluctance from Alexander but the man seemed to have made peace with what he had been ordered to do. Shit, he should have checked, should have made sure that Alexander knew he wasn’t _demanding_ sex and that his well being was way more important than getting off.

“Still warm,” Magnus murmurs as he passes a hand on the bedding on Alec’s side. Weakly, he he lets himself topple face first into Alexander’s pillow, breathing in his scent. He moves around a bit, rolling onto his back and dragging the pillow with him, snuggling it like a teddy bear (briefly, his mind flashes with images of Alec in a bear kigurumi and boy, is he _tired_ ).

He glances at his wrist command, wondering what time it- bloody. fucking. _hell_.

Five am. As in five in the morning. That’s not an decent hour for anyone, but especially not for Magnus. Lounging in bed -sometimes all day- has always been one of his favorite activities (among with taking apart complex algorithms, sex and getting his way, not necessarily in that order). Well, _had_ always been one of his favorite activities, since as a MI6 handler it was unusual to be permitted such a luxury.

How many times did Magnus have to stay down in that bloody basement, tucked without comfort in one of the overnight cots, waiting for Woody to check in due to a different time zone or simply incapable of going home when his double-o was truly missing? Enough for him to have a favorite cot and a change of clothes under his desk... In a way, the worst thing about it was that he _chose_ to stay behind and not assign someone else to monitor the comms while he was taking a break. He could have, but just couldn’t.

That had never made sense to Magnus’ friends, but then again, they weren’t the one hopelessly in love with a bloody double-o agent.

 _Not so hopeless, now, is it?_ He smiles to himself.

Then Magnus hears it, the low rumble of voices outside his bedroom. Pangborn (Magnus isn’t sure) and Alec are obviously arguing about something. Magnus doesn’t know what to do: surely Alec would have woke him up if it was important -he better.

Before he can pick a course of action, Perhaps-Pangborn leaves, not bothering to be silent and slamming the front door of the suite, and Alec comes back in the bedroom a minute later, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants. It's a sight and Magnus forgets to be worried for a seconds.

“Shit, did we wake you up?” Alec asks when he sees that Magnus is lying across the bed. Magnus is mildly disgusted by how wide awake his lover is, when he should have been curled up in their bed, cuddling Magnus. _Agents, always ready._

“Nope.” Magnus doesn’t elaborate his answer; Alec is smart, he can guess what woke up Magnus in the middle of the night.

Magnus’ smile widens and he beckons Alec closer. Amazingly, Alec comes to him, one knee on the bed and bending all the way down to kiss his forehead gently and then his mouth somehow gentler. Not for the first time, Magnus wonders if this is real, if he finally lost it and lives in an Erised mirror fueled dream. Too much time thinking about his double-o and what they could become might have fried his brain after all.

“I need to go,” Alec apologizes when Magnus tries to drag him further on the bed along with him. “Morgenstern _decided_ that his younger recruits could use an up-to-date MI6 training.”

Magnus frowns. In the darkness, he can’t really see Alec’s expression but he can feel the tension under his hands, the stiffness in Alec’s arms.

“He wants you to meet the kids, to know them.” _God, that man is sickeningly smart,_ Magnus has to admit.

Alec nods against Magnus’ neck as he peppers it with small kisses.

“He knows that I wouldn't leave children behind… that complicates any plan to escape,” Alec says matter of factly. “Ground us here.”

Magnus groans.

The way out of here is a complicated one, but Morgenstern was obliging enough to give Magnus an out. It’s resting at the bottom of his bag, the one one of the henchmen packed for Magnus when they took him out of the cabin. The Balmoral snow globe hadn’t been the only surprise among his clothes. Now if Magnus could find a way to use the device without him and Alec dying, that would be grand. But coding off that particular bug on the fly isn’t that easy with every eyes and cameras pointed at Magnus.

When Alec detaches from him, Magnus tries not to shiver too hard at the loss of contact, of warmth. Magnus crawls back under the covers, fluffing the pillows as Alec turns on a small light and disappears into the huge walk-in closet on the side of the bedroom, probably to locate some training clothes.

There is a panic brewing in Magnus’ belly, his mind, his heart and tries to ignore it. Alexander _will be fine_. He always is, isn’t he?

Alec comes back a minute later to change in front of him - _bless him_ \- and gets rid of the sweatpants, leaving him buck naked in the soft light. It plays on his skin with warm shadows, beautifully highlighting his muscles. Magnus lets out a groan of appreciation at sight of his naked -naked what? Boyfriend sounds trivial, so lover will have to do for now. Magnus bites his bottom lip to prevent any rash actions (actions that might or might not include caressing, licking and kissing every inch of Alexander’s skin for as long as Magnus pleases or can manage it before losing it). That much beauty could be easily mistaken for a master sculptor’s wet dream.

Not that Magnus like Alexander’s magnificent arse for everyone to see. To protect the public, of course. Magnus snorts and sighs again, louder this time, just to be sure that Alexander _knows_.

“Don’t start,” Alec warns without heat as he turns towards Magnus with a raised finger. He's grinning.

 _Really? Don’t start?_ Magnus isn’t the one flaunting himself in front of Alec and expecting him not to want. Magnus gestures down at his cock which is hidden under the cover, then at Alec’s before coily shielding the eyes, “I’m showing heroic levels of self-restrain right now!” Magnus peeks between his fingers, grinning so wide it’s hurting his cheeks.

Alec’s eyebrows seems to disagree with the supposed heroics and, alas, he puts on a pair of boxer shorts and then some black thermal running leggings, jumping lightly an his feet before adjusting down -the filthy bastard- the fabric around his groin and hips.

“Bye bye pecs,” Magnus says with a mournful sigh when Alec slips a long sleeved shirt on. The second they get out of this place, clothing will be forbidden for a while. A long while. They might relocate to a nudist resort. _Well. A private beach_ , Magnus amends, because he doesn’t share and he has the means to follow his heart (or in this case, his cock).

“You’re so weak,” Alec teases as he crawls up the bed to meet Magnus in a heated kiss **,** which eases Magnus’ earlier worries about Alec forcing himself into sex for Magnus’ sake. “I won’t be back until this afternoon,” he says between light nips on Magnus’ bottom lip, as if to drown any protest, “I love you.”

Magnus wants to force him to stay but he can’t. He can’t and it’s killing him to finally have Alexander but none of his freedom. He still says “I love you” back (he can’t imagine not saying those words every time he feels like it now that he can). He watches Alec go through the door with a pang in his heart, then hears him cross the living room area and finally closing the front door behind him.

It sounds final and Magnus moves that thought to the trash as quickly as he can, refusing to let it take root and corrupt the rest of his brain.

There’s no going back to sleep after that, as much as Magnus tries. He tosses and turns for about half an hour before giving up and kicking the covers to the foot of the bed. The peace that overcame him the second Alexander was returned to him, alive and whole, had been like a warm blanket. Now, with him gone even for a small amount of time, Magnus can’t breathe as easily. It’s not just the fear of something bad happening to Alec that makes Magnus uneasy. It’s  the basic need to have him around, just because.

It’s stupid and so demeaning in many ways, to feel that dependent on someone else. Magnus was perfectly _fine_ before meeting Alec, before falling in love with him. Hell, he was somehow fine when he was agonizing over every joke and every moment of silence from the stupid spy. Albeit, then he could distract himself from the annoying infatuation and the unsteadiness of his heart whenever Woody _breathed_ (Magnus had long perfected the art of losing himself and his worries into hard work, parties and taking care of anyone else problems in a five mile radius).

The dreaded feelings, unfortunately, had only grown hungry and demanding, until nothing else could satisfy Magnus.

And now, Alec loved him. Well, he said that he had loved Magnus for a long time, but now Magnus had a verbal confession and so many marks on his body, bites and hickeys all over his throat and chest to prove it -on his inner thighs too if he wasn’t mistaken, but Magnus had been out of it with pleasure at that point; for all he knew Alec could have been doodling little stars with a felt pen down there.

 _This is real_ , he has to remind himself, _it’s not a silly dream my imagination could have concocted during a mission, in between bullets and flirty lines._

Real means that Magnus has to deal with Alexander’s absence now that he learnt the shape of him beside him. And that _sucks_.

Camille had called him needy more than once during their brief dalliance and perhaps she had been right, or perhaps she was just incapable of loving anyone asides from herself. He doesn’t care.

What’s important right now is that he’s got an unbearable amount of time before being due in the lab and really, Magnus would have loved to use that time to map Alexander’s body a bit more thoroughly. Instead he’s left to chew and chew on his own thoughts until they make him sick.

He sighs again. That’s what you get for beginning a relationship during a _joined kidnapping_. Once he’s out of bed, he hovers around the window for a while before deciding that he can do without the obnoxious blue bolivian sky right now, it’s way to beautiful and cheery for his mood, he’s sure of it.

While he’s actually relieved that the conditions of his imprisonment this time around are far superior to the ones he went through six months ago, Magnus is no fool. A prison cell is a prison cell, no matter the silk Morgenstern had draped over the bars or the quantity of food available.

Magnus shudders and hurries towards to the bathroom, the need to clean that ugly feeling of gratefulness for his jailer too overwhelming to be ignored. Shower time it is. Magnus doesn’t lose a second to turn on as many steamy jets of water as possible and works a lather of shampoo on his head, leaves it alone while he takes an exfoliating washing mitt and some fancy myrtille bodywash. He hisses when he touches a bite mark with too much force and looks down at his chest, the hickeys are everywhere and Magnus presses a finger to one, curious and hungry.

This time the hiss isn’t of pain or surprise. He can feel Alexander marking him again, his gorgeous mouth mapping his chest and abs with enthusiasm, how he had been mindlessly rutting against Magnus’ leg all along his exploration.

_God._

Magnus turns his face up, eyes closed and tries to concentrate on the lingering feel of Alec’s hands on him, on their reality, the solidness of his touch and body above (and in) Magnus.

To think that Raphael and Ragnor had tried to make him forsake Alexander. Fools. So they might had had a point then. But _then_ is over and now… now it doesn’t have the slightest importance.

 

*****

**THEN**

It all started in the Eternal City, less than three years ago. Well, not exactly. Magnus had been in London sitting safely behind his desk while Alexander had been roaming on the rooftops of the Italian capital. But the point is, Rome was _their_ beginning.

“That’s the one I would have went with, of course!”

Raphael’s shouting could be heard from the entrance of the Q labs and Magnus winced, suddenly less than sure he wanted his friend’s advice right this moment, as the younger man could be quite lethal in his insults when he was in _a mood_ , even to innocent bystanders (Magnus was rarely innocent but that wasn’t the point). He thought, briefly about backing away in the elevator and forgetting this folly but he actually needed the help.

“That process is experimental at best and a child’s crazy vision of science at worst. I’m not risking to be back to square one just because _you_ can’t be bothered to say you agree with me!”

And that was the lovely Isabelle screaming now, voice like a ticking bomb about to go off. It was strange to hear her like this. Most of the time, she was a lot like Magnus, effortlessly beautiful and cheery, too busy trying to set up her brother James -or was it Jake?- with an honest woman to raise her voice. But screaming that way she sounded a lot -dare Magnus think it- like her mother. Dreadful comparison, really, as Maryse Lightwood was a pretty dreadful woman.

“ _You_ should be grateful that I bothered checking your baseline numbers and not went ho-”

“Raphael? Do you have a second or should I go and fetch security?” Magnus asked with the sweetest tone, cutting Rafa’s rant short.

Both Q juniors turned towards him, twin expressions of anger on their faces. Magnus gulped; they hated being intruded on when they fought -something about messing up their creativity flow (loons, the both of them)...

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs monitoring Alec?” Isabelle’s voice cracked like a whip. There was definitely an accusation in there, coated with a warning.

“Your brother is sleeping in his hotel room. The Branwell heir is safe, mission’s over,” Magnus explained as vaguely as possible (it was strange to call Lyds so callously but his colleagues weren't supposed to know about his past. Not the real one at least). He shouldn’t have been here at all, as handlers had no business going to the Q dept to gossip about missions. And yet, here he was, against regulations and common sense.

Isabelle beamed at him, ignoring his inner turmoil; her foul mood forgotten she went to her work station and texted someone. Probably her brother -brothers.

“So? I told you you guys would make a great team!” she declared smugly, eyes glued to her phone.

Magnus squinted his eyes at her. “You _bullied_ me into handling him because no one wanted to.”

“Nonsense.”

“Why doesn't anyone wants to work with him?” Rafa asked confusedly.

Isabelle winced and Magnus looked away.

“Mum is already a pain in everyone arse. Imagine how bad she can get breathing down the  necks of the handlers responsible for Alec and Jace… not something that I’d wish on anyone,” Isabelle said with a shudder.

Yet she had thrown Magnus to the proverbial lions without hesitation.

Yes. Right. The thing he needed to ask Rafa about. He couldn’t do that with Isabelle around. She seemed nice enough and never commented on Magnus’ bisexuality or Rafa being gay but she might not be so accepting about her own brother. Who came out over the comms. To his mark. And incidentally to Magnus. _On a recorded channel_ for all MI6 employees with a high enough clearance to hear. _Including his bloody mother_.

Magnus wasn’t sure if Maryse Lightwood already knew her son was gay or reviewed the mission logs as soon as it had been over but Magnus could, in theory, erase part of it to make sure that 009’s secret was safe.

Because Magnus remembered pretty well the numerous times Maryse Lightwood had told him to tone down the flamboyance since he was enrolled by force in the MI6. You don’t act like that, so scornful and bigoted toward a stranger, if you’re ready to embrace your gay son with opened arms and absolute acceptance.

He was not even sure he wanted Rafa to stop him in his foolish plan.

“He’s tolerable,” Magnus said mildly to answer Isabelle’s inquiry about the partnership. But 009 wasn’t. Not at all. Annoying? Yes. Dangerous? Most certainly. Scarily competent and focused too. The most endearing laugh (when he wasn’t faking it) and probably too much baggage for Magnus to handle. Magnus liked the guy. Not that he was going to say that to his sister. Or Rafa. Or anyone.

Suddenly Izzy was shoving a framed picture under his nose. It was her and her brothers in the Academy military dress uniforms and Magnus had saw it only fifteen times before, in the same circumstances.

“ _Tolerable ?_ ” she hissed at him. “Look at the cuteness! Look!”

“One day you might want to stop aggressing people with pictures of your family, it’s getting worrying,” Rafa sneered from behind Isabelle. “Also he’s got, like, a giant spot on his chin on that picture? Is concealer above double-os?”

“You’re just-”

“Isabelle!” someone shouted from the entrance of the lab.

The three of them turned around and Magnus’ eyebrows went up with surprise.

“Jace! What are you doing here?” Isabelle demanded.

So that was 008, the blond boy from all the pictures Isabelle had showed him, all her colleagues and their mothers as well; Magnus had never saw him before face to face, nor handled him in the field. His name, apparently wasn’t James nor Jake. The man was sweating profusely, like he just came back from the gym and had a sour expression on his face.

“We need to talk, it’s about Alec… he did…” the blond looked around, eyeing Magnus and Rafa with suspicion, “he said…”

 _Oh bloody hell_. Magnus realized that he wouldn’t have any need for Raphael’s advice after all. The mission logs were obviously out there already, wrecking family members one at a time.

“I know, I’m his handler,” Magnus said to avoid the awkwardness of the Lightwood siblings playing silent guess with him and Rafa in the room.

“You fucker, you had no right to -”

008 was on him in a second, trying to grab him -probably to throw him against the nearest wall- but Magnus sidestepped him quickly, more a reflex than a conscious decision on his part, and put his hands up in a calming gesture.

“Missions logs are recorded and automatically transmitted to your commanding officer and M, _as per regulation,_ ” Magnus reminded the double-o agent. All he had wanted was to ask about the possibility of hacking the MI6 servers and do some light high treason for a maddeningly grumpy double-o.

“What are you two talking about?” Isabelle asked, putting herself between 008 and Magnus. Even with her high heeled Jimmy Choo, she wasn’t tall enough to break eye contact between the two of them.

“Alec came out,” 008 said, his concern evident. “Mum is throwing a fit upstairs, I’m pretty sure she’s preparing some kind of exorcism for him.”

Isabelle looked stricken for a second before she steeled herself. “She can try,” she said with ice in her voice.

“This is what you were here for?” Rafa asked with a raised brow to Magnus.

Magnus nodded. _I should have erased that recording when I had the chance_.

Izzy was on her phone again. “I’m texting Max, you should try reaching Alec,” she said to 008.

“He won’t answer. Last time we talked he made his intentions toward the minibar in his room pretty clear,” Magnus announced. _Baggage. So much baggage. Don’t even think about it Magnus,_ he told himself.

Isabelle groaned and sat down, head in her hands. 008 went to her and kneeled in front of her, murmuring something that Magnus didn’t try to catch.

“Well. Seemed you had an exciting few days,” Rafa muttured. “Though I’m not sure how the man’s sexuality was still a secret, I saw him at _Qué Calor_ last week making out with some guy… MI6 is not what it used to be, clearly.”

Qué Calor was a nice gay club that Magnus frequented himself occasionally. To think that he could have met 009 there…

“I need to go back to write my report,” he said hastily, derailing his train of thought before he could get on it and find himself in Crazy Town by accident.

Rafa gave him a piercing look, like he could read Magnus’ mind and said “don’t involve yourself in this.”

Isabelle and her brother were still talking in hushed tone and while Magnus felt sorry for them,  Rafa was right, so he nodded to him. His position in the MI6 was hanging by a thread enough as it was; putting himself in the crossfire between Maryse Lightwood and her children would be suicide. He didn’t fancy himself behind bars for the crimes he committed and the one he didn’t.

 _My coming out was… unpleasant enough,_ Magnus thought bitterly. He wasn’t keen on reliving that through the Lightwoods, even as a spectator. His step-mom had sent him away to Le Rosey in an effort to hide the fact he was bisexual from his father. Magnus didn’t want to go, didn’t want to be protected but Lilith did it anyway. He spent a semester ignoring her calls, her presents, all her explanations and excuses. That when stealing his father’s stinking money to fuck with him had begun to be the only thing that kept Magnus from going nuts. He came back that summer with flamingo pink streaked hair, several hearings and went straight to his father’s study to come out. The beating he took that day left him in an hospital for a few days and Magnus hacked into Asmodeus Industries’ accounts from his bed, set on destroying his father for everything he ever done.

 

A few days later after leaving the Lightwoods to their problems, Magnus had found a little snow globe of Saint Peter’s Basilica on his desk. He didn’t know what to make of it, didn’t _want_ to make anything of it. The snow globe ended up in one of his desk drawers, out of sight so that Magnus could concentrate on something else.

_Right._

Then, Magnus actually met Alec. He had been arguing with Ragnor over something -loudly if his memory serves him right- when the older handler had poke him and directed Magnus’ attention on the most gorgeous man Magnus had ever laid eyes on.

The pictures that Izzy was always insisting on showing him had not do any justice to 009, nor did the video feed every time the double-o agent had looked at his own reflection during his mission in Rome.

Something had been very, very wrong with 009 though. His body was so still, his posture so tense, than he looked less lifelike than a statue; he might not have been breathing at all. Then there was the look of absolute horror on his face as he stared at Magnus.

They had gawked at each other, Magnus growing restless by the second before 009 had fled.

_Fled._

No one had ever actively fled Magnus before. Avoided, yes. Fled? That was new and bruised Magnus’ pride a bit.

Perhaps 009 was still embarrassed by the _Woody Lackwood_ comments Magnus made about him? Shit. Magnus looked at Ragnor, who was looking as perplexed as Magnus felt. But contrary to his friend, Magnus hadn’t been able to shake the feeling off. So, despite both Rafa’ and Ragnor’s advice and against his own better judgement, he had signed to handle 009’s next mission.

And the next and the next after that one, until they learned to work together so efficiently that the pair of them wouldn’t think to ask for someone else (that was at least how Magnus felt like, he had no way of knowing what Woody wanted, no matter what Izzy kept telling him).

The snow globes began to be a permanent fixture in his life. Alec would be sent somewhere, would bleed from stab or bullets wounds, nearly die and come back a bit more unhinged each time and Magnus would unwaveringly find a snow globe on his desk a few days later -sometimes awfully longer than that if 009 was hospitalized. There was nothing on earth that could wreck Magnus more than those bloody gifts.

God, there had been so much blood in Seoul. Magnus hadn’t thought that Alec would come back, alive or whole or at all. He managed, by some miracle, but his screams were still echoing in Magnus’ ears long after his audio feed was cut off and he was left with only images of Alec’s leg sliced open, muscles torn apart…

Magnus had found the snow globe two whole months after the mission and would have hurled it through the Handlers floor if it wasn’t for Isabelle putting her hand on his forearm, talking him down.

“I tried talking to him,” she said, pain obvious all over her.

M wouldn’t listen and no matter the pressure Jace and Isabelle were putting on their mother, she wouldn’t yield either and accept that Alec was at the end of his rope. Alec was apparently worse: immured in his silence and sense of duty. He seemed too far gone for help, too close from losing it to push around. _His mother’s perfect soldier_.

Ragnor and Rafa were so pissed at Magnus of course. They told him not to get involved, made him swear more than once, and he threw himself head first in that drama, with little thought about his own feelings or to the wounds _he_ could end up with.

Magnus was a besotted idiot and that scared the shit out of him, but not enough for him to stop.

San Francisco and yet another rebuttal from Alec had been Magnus’ breaking point. Leaving his double-o had been an act of self care, finally cutting something that was going nowhere. It had been all too much. He had heard Alexander _nearly die_ far too many times, saw the beatings and the bloody wounds, helped him patch them up over the comms and felt the bile rise in his throat each and every time. So Magnus had went away and accepted to move up a few floors, his promotion guaranteeing that he would never have to hear about Alexander Lightwood ever again. Rafa had cheered, Isabelle had nodded -sad but understanding- and Magnus had stared at blank walls for a while.

Cabo had put an end to that, not even a week later. Woody had the worst case of danger magnet Magnus had ever seen and a death wish to match it. That combined with a bloody _intern_ had nearly cost Alec his life (again) and definitely cost Magnus his will to stay away.

Their two years of partnership had ended up with him confronting Alec in his flat, letting his pride and anger get the better of him and forcing words out of Alec’s mouth while expecting more than fear in return.

Fear from Alec, but also from himself.

Then there wasn’t time to think about relationship. Magnus was kidnapped, Camille was a traitor and people _died_. That long week waiting -hoping or dreading, Magnus wasn’t sure- that someone would come for him. Miracles had never been part of his life, yet Alexander finding his way to that particular lab had been one. Oh how Magnus had just wanted to cry for a month and never let go of Alec.

Relearning to be himself, to breathe out the fear and breathe in some modicum of calm had been a long, imperfect process. Those six months had been trying and Magnus thought about the stupid spy every single day, pain and hope and pain and need swirling inside his head and his heart. . In the end, he had finally realized what Alec always meant by bringing him back snow globes. Magnus was his safe place and, it hit him that Alec was probably his, even with all the hurt between them.

Magnus wasn’t entirely sure what he had expected when he went to Luke’s cabin but he had found it and more. Alec had been _healthy_ , something that Magnus had come to realize he’d never witnessed before and how sick and sad was that? It took his breath away and he was light headed as he went around the cabin, too dizzy to do anything but stare and gorge himself on the sight of Alexander Lightwood at peace.

And now he is here, lost somewhere in Bolivia, at the mercy of sociopaths. But at least he has Alexander.

 

*****

**NOW**

When Magnus gets to the lab and turns on everything, he can’t help but to look at the leather couch with some longing in his heart. Then he bites his tongue, swears (both at the pain and at himself) and gets to work. _Bad Magnus, no lovelorn glances at empty couches!_

Magnus Bane is no languishing maiden waiting for the prince to come ravish him. He’s got stuff to do. Luckily, Morgenstern’s henchmen followed his instructions to the letter and are currently inside the Aqua Comms’ headquarter in Dublin, diligently working to find a point of entry for Magnus’ little virus.

Jesus. At least it’s done, and if they fuck up, well, their boss can’t blame Magnus -he’d done his part. He won himself and Alexander a day.

 _Now I have to win another one_ , he thinks, bitter. This is like the early days at the Academy, when M had been closely monitoring him, making every imperfect grade and behavioral problem sound like a death sentence. _Bloody old hag_ , _she would have loved Morgenstern’s little operation if it wasn’t set on destroying the world as it is. Her methods of recruitment weren’t all that different anyway._

His time at the Academy had left a sour taste in Magnus’ mouth, but it was the way he got there in the first place that still haunted him. He was taken from the Pemberly manor right after the funerals, cheeks still wet and eyes burning from crying (for Lilith, not his father), lost and grieving. One second he was looking at a vodka bottle like it held the answers to all his problems, and the next a group of MI6 grunts broke in and dragged him outside, shoved him in a black sedan before putting a bag on his head and driving away. He was fifteen and terrified.

M was waiting for him in a creepy underground parking lot, laying the law of the land between them. Past crimes would be forgotten, the blood on his hands (administratively) washed off. _The Accords_ , she called it. A new name, a new life, it’s purpose to serve Queen and country.

Magnus hadn’t actually said yes, but M had just done what was convenient for her and shipped Magnus to the Academy.

He had been kept apart from the other students for three months, taking classes in self defence, weapon handling before being allowed in _gen pop_ (and only because he worked hard to make up for his lateness in the program) and regular handlers courses.

At least there they hadn’t fitted Magnus with a explosive in his chest.

Magnus gets back to the competitor list until the henchmen contact him to upload his virus. After a quick check, Magnus realizes that Alec did a pretty good job yesterday when he ranked that list and really if he ever wants to get back to MI6, he could probably make the cut for the Archives department (Magnus chuckles and put that thought aside for now, he needs to make fun of Alexander about it later).

He picks one, a successful armator that makes most of his money over transporting everything (and anyone) illegal from point A to B for the right price. Morgenstern dealt with him before and Magnus can make an educated guess that the man wants this operation for himself without having to pay outrageous fees.

That kind of operation is exactly what the MI6 (and any other government agencies on the bloody planet) is scared off. Terrorism, drugs, human trafficking… it all comes down to people greedy enough to close their eyes and make some room in their ships or containers. A lie here, a greased hand there and you’ve got giant holes in your borders and State security. Magnus’ entire being is revulsed by those people, and even more by the fact that he can’t tear this particular operation apart, just hand it over to Morgenstern… He has to picture Alexander being tortured to motivate himself to do what needs to be done, adding what feels like a century’s worth of fatigue to his nerves.

Hacking the armator is child’s play. Magnus calls Pangborn and asks to use a phone; the request is met with stunned silence, before the man realizes that Magnus isn’t joking or asking to talk to Santa. Permission is granted and _finally_ , after thirty minutes of nonsense, Magnus can work his magic.

“Hi, this is Sandy Marshall’s secretary, Mr. Marshall isn’t dis-”

“I’m going to cut you right there, Miss… what’s your name?” Magnus says, his voice three octaves lower than usual and the best american accent he can manage. Beside him, Pangborn muffles a giggle.

“Hum, Judith? Judith Rosenberg?” she answers uncertainly.

“Hi, I’m Chord McLagan from Latham & Watkins here in LA,” Magnus says, one eye on the Lawyer firm website and the other on Judith Rosenberg’s Facebook account, “and I’m calling you, not your boss. I’ve been hired to find new testimonies in a sexual harassment case against your employer. I’ve been told that _you_ or any of his female employees might have things to tell me.”

In truth, Magnus spent five minutes reading her Twitter, Facebook and Instagram feeds to find a strategy. The fact that she hated her boss and used a semi-anonymous Twitter account to vent about his wandering hands and leering remarks had Magnus wince in sympathy but also make the entire ordeal easier.

On the phone, Ms. rosenberg (25 years old, single, three cats and a 12k college debt) is silent.

“Oh my god, are you calling for Katrina?” she whispers after a few seconds.

“I’m not free to disclose the name of my clients at the time, miss.” Magnus isn’t super proud of himself right now. Katrina, he knows, was fired because she slapped Mr. Marshall after he tried to kiss her one too many times… he also knows that the poor woman doesn’t have the means to hire a lawyer, let alone someone from Latham & Watkins. At least, implying that there are more than one clients will save him an explanation if the secretary texts her friend for confirmation.

“I-I,” she takes a huge breath, like she’s working herself for something and asks, “what do you need?”

Magnus smiles at Pangborn and, covering the phone, says “I’m in.”

The other man laughs then, obviously taken by Magnus’ use of such terrible line. Magnus kinda wants to punch him in the face but Alexander did such a fantastic job working Pangborn over yesterday, it would be a stupid move to snap at the guy for acting friendly to Magnus now.

So Magnus rolls his neck and tells himself to toughen up. It’s not like it’s the first time he had to do this, hacking isn’t just firewalls and computers -that’s just the movies. Sometimes you have to get your hands dirty.

The secretary is beyond helpful and so full of (righteous) rage over her boss that it’s easy to convince her to go check her boss laptop in his office and open a mail that Magnus sent (when she protests that illegally acquired informations won’t hold in court, Magnus argues back that learning the name of other victims is a priority, as well as knowing if Marshall tried to cover his arse).

An hour later, Magnus is off the phone, a mirror image of Sandy Marshall’s work computer in one of his monitors and Morgenstern is _congratulating_ him, shaking his hand like a friend would and orders the link to be sent to his minions so they can work the best strategy to steal Marshall’s smuggling operation.

Magnus lets the feeling of disgust wash over him, forcing some food down at noon and listens absently to Pangborn talk about his ex. He asks about Alexander but the henchman says he doesn’t know where they sent him, just that he left with a group of kids and some other instructors.

 

The Aqua Comms hack is another success, But this time around, Magnus actually feels happy about it -not that he's stupid enough to show it, so he begrudgingly nods when his captors thank him.

They're too busy watching the Raytheon share price stumble down, the algorithms that buy and sell on the markets in nanoseconds getting confused at the different numbers they are fed, crashing, taking others values and other companies with them, Wall Street sweating and the rest of the markets getting anxious, not understanding what the fuck is going on.

It takes two whole hours for the authorities to work out from where the numbers are getting modified, but by then it's too late to do anything else than cry. On one screen, Magnus can see how many millions Morgenstern shaved off and the stock price of Morningstar Mechanic skyrocketing. It's not the only company that profited from the crime and they won't get caught.

Magnus won't either.

Morgenstern probably had Magnus' virus and new code for Aqua Comms checked by someone else, but Magnus knows how to cover his tracks, and how to bury ten lines of perfectly innocent looking code under thousands and thousands of others. The fact that he was asked to produce the virus in such a short time actually played in his favor. His virus works, but it is kind of a mess (or at least Magnus made it looked that way, not editing out some redundancies, leaving inert code around as so many dead ends  and drafts) and who had the time to look at every single line anyway? To check what they did, and where exactly they would go?

The Dark Web is dark indeed and Magnus and the others handlers at MI6 were pretty familiar with it, monitoring it as much as they could. And Magnus bet his life on the fact that every single one of his friends on the handlers floor are looking for anything that could help find him.

So Magnus had written a little code, something that would work as part of his virus -changing numbers- but would send one number at a time  to a message board about cats (spoilers, that message board wasn't about cats). Said message board had been set up by Ragnor back in the 90s when he first got in the MI6 so that he and the others handlers could communicate without their bosses knowing.

The entire thing was set up to receive coded transmissions... so Magnus hopped he remembered the commands correctly and that he had not sent some weird message that made no sense. The lines of code erased themselves, just in case, after being used.

His message (username: Cha1rman Meow) was hopefully as followed: my green cabbages would sprout better under the bolivian sun and stars.

It didn’t take a genius to take the hint but Magnus didn’t actually know if the message board was still there. Ragnor had shown it to him once, forced him to make a account when he wasn’t an intern anymore and that was it. Magnus had no way of knowing...

Jesus, even if the message is exact, the site still up and Ragnor still monitoring it, there is still the hard truth that the last time Magnus was kidnapped, Alec and the others had to go _rogue_ to rescue him.

Even that is just a detail, because as far as Magnus is concerned, the explosive in his and Alexander’s chests is the real problem here because his grand escape plan requires they don’t carry any electronics on them...

 

*****

What was it again? Noon? Noon-ish? Early afternoon? Late afternoon? Magnus can’t remember what Alexander told him and he’s getting worried.

His wristband tells him it’s five in the afternoon and Magnus wishes he could have something difficult to do, something he would be too absorbed in to think about Alec. But Pangborn had to come and tell him he was free to go back to his quarters, that there wasn’t anything else for him to do today, not after his _successes_ (Magnus nearly stabbed him with a pen in frustration). Now would be the perfect time to work on the escape plan, but Pangborn must have orders to get Magnus away from the computers when it’s not a necessity.

Foolishly, Magnus had hoped that Alec would be there, already taking a nap in their bed and that cuddling was on the table. Instead the suite was cold and dark and, if Magnus is being honest, a bit daunting. Alexander’s absence was sucking the little life Magnus’ quarters had to offer, forcing Magnus to face reality.

So Magnus doesn’t linger there and just changes, passing an outfit not unlike the one Alexander put on this morning and heads towards that gym on the first floor. Magnus had been send there by Pangborn the second day of his tenure as Morgenstern’s pet hacker, the henchman claiming he could hear Magnus toss and turn from his (far more modest) quarters. Alec was supposedly concussed and Magnus established a precise routine to make his days bearable: wake up, breathe in, talk himself out of panic attacks (sometimes without success), breathe out, shower, go to the lab, work ( _traitor, traitor_ ringing in his head, _Alexander_ pounding in his heart), eat, come back to his suite, worry about Alec some more, worry about himself (always) and finally, hit the gym to tire himself out enough to sleep.

He stays on the treadmill for a good hour, running, running, running, sweating away any thought that isn’t right foot, left foot and repeat, music too loud to hear anything, even his respiration.

When he gets bored, when the punishing pace isn’t enough, he just stretches for a while, careful and remembering Lilith’s soft voice not to hurt himself while doing so. She was such a _mom_ , even if she spent an awful lot of time denying it. Magnus doesn’t know if it was because she simply didn’t care that much, or if it was some show of respect towards the woman that had carried Magnus for nine months.

Magnus winces, letting go of his foot and easing his burning calf. Too careless, as always when he lets his mind wander in a particular direction... it’s always the same. Whenever he thinks about his mother, he always ends up being filled with an odd sense of guilt and the need to call his friends to party to replace it with company and laughs. Of course, here it’s not possible.

His mom has always been a sore subject… firstly, because he can't remember her for the life of him. He doesn't know the shape of her smiles, the way she laughed -hell, if she ever laughed. Everything she is (was, is, was, is, Magnus doesn't know that either) is lost to him. Perhaps she’s long dead, Asmodeus wouldn't have been above it. Sometimes, in really dark hours, Magnus entertained the thought that she didn’t disappeared at all, that she just traded a large amount of money against her silence and her son. He’ll probably never know. The result is the same: Magnus doesn’t remember the name he was given at birth and never found his actual birth certificate. Charles Pemberly Jr had been the only thing he had been authorized to answer to anyway -until the MI6 took that away as well.

Secondly, because in his head, Lilith was his mother (an entirely different can of worms).

And so Magnus feels guilty even if he knows it's only natural. The woman that birthed him (perhaps loved him) hasn't been in his life since he was two years old. Not remembering her is normal, and so is associating the woman who raised him (good and bad) to the role, even when said woman categorically refused for Magnus to call her Mum, Mother or Mama.

Still, they bonded easily over the lack of attention Asmodeus showed them. The trophy wife and the _legitimized_ bastard, abandoned both at the manor while he was off making more money, sleeping around and being an all around arsehole. Their mutual love for clothes and makeup had done the rest. It can sound silly but she caught him wearing her stolen hot pink Dior nail polish when he was six (badly, as his grubby nails and strained fingertips had showcased), _tsked_ and rolled her eyes before commanding him to her bedroom so she could clean him up and show him how it was done. That mattered to Magnus. But as soon as they had to go outside or that Asmodeus was due home, she would force him down classic (boring) boy attires and febrily wipe the eye shadow from his face like a housekeeper might clean floors. It took several years for Magnus to realize she was trying, in her own abrupt way, to protect him.

He could never wrap his head around the fact she had married his father. People always thought that she was mean to him, in the wicked way of the evil stepmothers that seem to haunt fairy tales. But Asmodeus was the only monster in Magnus' life. His father loathed him and kept him as far away as he could when his friends weren’t around to cast judgement on him. He also had special ways of making sure Magnus knew he was not (and would never be) welcomed in the Pemberly family. Be it by firing staff members that were kind to him or gifting him skin lightening creams for christmas (Magnus being “ _simply too brown to have a english title_ ”). Magnus loathed him right back but also grabbed at any show of affection from the man like a starving kid, until he reached an age where delusions weren’t possible anymore.

The family never grew, as they never had a kid of their own. One day Magnus heard them fight, Asmodeus’ smug voice twisting the blame on Lilith and on Lilith alone. " _After all, that mongrel upstairs proves_ I _can have children._ ”

“Shut up,” Magnus growls at his father's voice in his head.

Magnus puts his headphones on again, letting the music flow through him, numbing the painful words Asmodeus used… if he lets them, they’ll drag him deep and drown him, despite the bastard being long dead. Right now, he needs something more disciplined that running.

Lilith’s voice is like a metronome in his head, pushing the world away more than the music. She loved to dance. Lived for it really and gave some of her fire to Magnus. She called herself a _failed ballerina_ (words that sounded like her husband's, not her own) with a sad smile that looked like a lumpy scar, still aching after healing. Little Magnus couldn't understand everything but he felt for her, keenly.

So he dances, a bit for him, a bit for her, head held high and muscles burning.

 

*****

_Oh-oh, I got stamina_

_Oh-oh, I got stamina_

The song ends and so does the playlist, leaving Magnus alone and a bit out of breath, blood pounding in his ears, body aching and feeling supremely good about it. It’s been a long time since he let go like this… As he turns around, looking for his water bottle, he stops, the man slouching against the wall near the door startling him.

“You’re late,” he says without heat. “You could have told me you were h-” Magnus’ words die in his throat, mouth closing. He gulps down some much needed air. Exhales. Repeat. Once, twice. Wets his lips and stares.

Alec eyes are dilated and so, _so hungry_ , devouring at Magnus like he never saw him before, like he didn’t take him apart and put him back together last night. Like he really wants to.

“I think I got back just in time,” Alec says appreciatively.

Magnus huffs but it’s just for show and the heat on his cheeks has nothing to do with his workout.

“You look terrible darling,” he comments, worry for Alexander trumping desire easily. It’s true: he’s got a black eye, his hands and forearms bear cuts and bruises and he’s probably hurt somewhere else -everywhere else. His clothes are muddy and good for the trash, torn in places, exposing abused skin.

“You don’t,” Alec answers without missing a beat, tired eyes roaming freely all over Magnus’ body, his face, clouding with lust and affection. Nevermind that Magnus feels gross with sweat, apparently Alexander can work with that. “I didn’t know you could _dance_ , not like this.” Alec walks to Magnus, licking his splitted bottom lip, and takes his hands in his to sway them a little in the silence of the gym. Just like he did during Magnus’ brief stay at Luke’s cabin. The memory warms and chills Magnus at the same time, bloody anxiety trying to choke the peace out of it.

“I do a really mean valse, might come in handy one day,” Magnus jokes before hiding his face in Alec’s neck. He’s always complaining of the slight height difference but he loves it. Alec’s neck is the best place in the entire world (and was obviously designed for him to bite to his heart's content). Still. He can’t believe he made a marriage joke. Talk about clingy.

Suddenly Alec’s hand is on the small of his back -scandalously low, and Magnus takes a sharp intake of breath at that,  though he is too worried about Alec’s state to truly appreciate it.

“Dance with me, Magnus?”

It’s not a plea, not really but Magnus’ insides melt at the tone, at the steadiness in Alec’s voice in this very unsteady situation. It’s still spectacular to hear Alec asks for something and for him to be right there, not away in a mission, separated by a comm system.

In truth, Magnus is a bit out of practice with the valse but Alec’s lead is impeccable, his rigorous Academy training showing in every step, before the day he endured catches up with him and Magnus gets to just hold him there, arms tight around his waist and hopefully grounding.

An other advantage of the height difference is that Magnus can nip at Alec’s tender earlobe as he pleases.

“We should go back to the suite… there is a dance I am rather fond of -and very, very proficient at- that might better suit your sleepiness,” he says coyly.

Alec nods a bit in Magnus’ hair before asking “is it sex? I’m not too tired for sex.” He punctuates his words with a slow roll of his hips and Magnus growls, rolling his eyes.

“I was thinking more along the line of a massage and a shower but we might be able to do both and your thing too.”

“My thing?” Alec asks, voice dripping with sarcasm he should be too tired to use.

“Our thing,” Magnus amends with a smile.

 

*****

“So what did you do today?” Magnus asks, casual as you please, massaging some shampoo in Alec’s hair. He misses the pirate look a bit, but this length is pretty neat too he thinks absently, just enough to grab and twist.

They’re both immersed in the huge bathtub, since Magnus insisted on testing it. Alec is half asleep between his legs, playing with _bubbles._

Alec rolls his neck from side to side until it pops, and confirms every fear in Magnus’ head with three words:

“Verlac was there.”

Magnus closes his eyes for a second, hands still moving and -he hopes- soothing Alexander, mind focused on Alec’s black eye and general state.

“You kicked his ass?” he tries without any cheer.

“Not so much. He’s good,” Alec says begrudgingly. “And I had to pull my punches.”

“Like Morgenstern would have cared.” The man seems annoyed by his son the way Asmodeus was with Magnus: thick disappointment that his heir isn’t exactly the way he commanded, anger not quite reaching the surface but still burning below. Still, Alexander wouldn’t have got away with trashing Morgenstern’s son, even if it was just on principle.

A voice at the back of Magnus’ mind remember him that, even if Alec is lethal, he might have still lost to Verlac. Might still lose, if they try to get out of here. Magnus swats the thought away, breathing in the shampoo fragrance in full, refusing to let Verlac hurt them here.

“And the children?”

“Good, too. Enthusiastic. Loyal to the Circle’s _cause_ …” Alec trails off, sinking deeper in the water. “There’s this little girl… Madzie? She’s so small Magnus. So small and she knows how to hold a knife and where to stab it to cause the most damage…”

His disgust is evident and Magnus can only echo it. _This place is an aberration,_ he thinks, but holds his tongue. After all, they’re supposed to play nice.

“So you had fun?” he snorts, humorless and empty.

Alec doesn’t answer at first but his hands grip Magnus’ knees, thumbs caressing the bubbly skin. “Sure, felt good to push a little.”

“Jesus, you spent the day playing Ninja Warrior didn’t you?” Magnus accuses him fondly, knowing that Alec needs the distraction. He’s always been a tad too excited about jumping across rooftops and giving Magnus grey hair anyway.

“Yes, Magnus. But I thought that I would,” he yawns loudly, “spare you the heart attack.”

“What a darling,” Magnus murmurs, eyeing a bruise on Alexander’s right shoulder blade. _I’m going to_ kill _Verlac_ , he vows simply. “Now come on, it’s past your bedtime.”

Alec laughs and Magnus’ heart sings with it, before he dunks his head under the water to rinse his hair like a brute. He then turns to face Magnus, fatigue writen deep on his face -something else too, something desperate and shattering- but he still manages to kiss Magnus hungrily, open mouthed and dirty, his hands on Magnus’ hips under the water, intent clear.

“Yeah, still not that tired though,” he says into the kiss and Magnus groans, amused and turned on too beyond reason.

He mumbles an answer, something witty he hopes but his mind doesn’t register it and he drags Alec from the bathtub as best as he can.

Bedtime _à la Alexander_ sounds marvelous.

 

*****

Magnus knows how violent nightmares can get. How impossible it is to remember that it’s not happening when you’re trapped in one; how sick and drained they make you feel once you’ve fight your way out.

But he never realized how violently they could manifest on the outside. Alec told him - _warned him-_ but he never actually had a nightmare when they were at the cabin. Magnus had been the one feeling unsteady at night.

Magnus stumbled out of bed half an hour ago, eyes half closed and not sure what had woke him up; until his mind was cleared by a wail, the pain in it shredding the fog of sleep around Magnus in a second, and he turned to see Alec trashing in the sheets like he was possessed.

Now, in the dark bedroom, Magnus can only sit quietly on an armchair near the bed with his arms around his knees, aghast at the scene unfolding in front of him and wishing he could do something -anything- to help Alexander and comfort him.

 _“It’s possible that I’ll wake up from a nightmare during the night. Just… don’t try to get near,”_ Alexander had said then. What he could do to Magnus in his sleep wasn’t his fault sure (even if, knowing Alec, the man would blame himself), but Magnus wouldn’t survive the experience.

So Magnus lets Alexander mumble, twist, cry out and straight up punch the mattress from a safe distance. But he talks. It’s nonsense, just sweet words of reassurance -probably only helping Magnus not to cry- but he can’t just do nothing.

Eventually, Alexander’s nightmare ends and he settles, silence more worrying than anything else.

Magnus breathes out, relieved. But before he can get back in bed, Alec shoots up, like a sweaty Jack in a box, calling out for Magnus like he’s in mortal danger as he pats the bed, evidently distraught.

“I’m here Alexander. I’m fine,” Magnus reassures from where he’s standing.

Alec gets up, like he needs to verify this but screams, falling soundly to the floor.

Magnus quickly turns on a light and stands there feet rooted on the floor, staring. Alec’s left thigh is covered in bloody lines, like he raked his nails across the skin again and again in his sleep.

Magnus helps him back on the bed but Alec is wincing in pain, his breathing erratic and hands clutching his injured thigh like it’s hurting much more than it should.

 _Oh. Seoul,_ Magnus thinks numbly, images that he rather forget flashing before his eyes, stomach churching in revulsion.

“Magnus,” Alexander manages to call through his ragged breathing. “‘urts so…”

He doesn’t understand. _They fixed his leg!_ Reconstructed the rectus femoris, saved the butchered sartorius, regrew femoral nerves in a goddamn lab and stitched the bloody mangled popliteal artery together… Magnus reread the file enough time to know it by heart, down the the timestamps. Alec shouldn't be feeling pain like this unless…

“Alexander? Darling, please, what do I do?” he asks, taking Alec’s clammy face in his hands.

His lover swallows around a sob and mumbles, “ke-kettle.”

Magnus nods and doesn’t pause, dashing for the kitchen of the suite and for the kettle that Alec’s sweet talked out of Pangborn the other day.

“Bastard,” he says under his breath, filling the kettle to the top and turning it on, before heading to the bathroom to retrieve a fluffy towel. He’s halfway to the bedroom with the boiling water a few minutes later when he remembers his visit to Alexander’s flat after Cabo. His kettle had been in the bedroom, something that Magnus had not found out of character for Alec, as the general state of his flat was less than conventional. But now...

“Bastard,” he swears again. Psychosomatic pain is a bitch to deal with, and of course Alexander had decided to do it on his own.

When he enters the bedroom, Alec is sitting on the bed, one long leg dangling from the edge and his grinding his teeth together, cheeks wet with tears. Magnus doesn’t care about the water that spills around and just wets the towel quickly, fingers protesting at the burn.

"It's going to burn," Magnus warns uselessly.

Alec nods, _like he’s bloody used to it_ , like he went through this enough it’s just another hell to walk through. Still, Magnus quickly applies the burning towel to Alec’s exposed thigh.

Alexander shouts, loud and painful. It’s a suspicious miracle that Pangborn doesn’t crash in the suit the following minutes. _Uh, there must really be cameras in this room_ , Magnus thinks, temporarily incapable of caring (and plainly refusing to be ashamed or embarrassed).

The silence is only breached by Alec’s ragged respiration, his eyes glued to Magnus’ like he can’t bare the sight of his leg.

Magnus had a moment the other night, when he couldn’t move past that left thigh either as he was going down Alec’s scared body. How bloody and dead it had looked through Alec’s eye contact cameras. How _fatal_. It’s all too fresh in Magnus's mind, painful and raw in some corner of his brain, like trapped electricity in a faulty circuit -ready to flood his system and fry it. He doesn’t dare imagine how Alexander must feel.

His wails are enough of an answer, pain from the temperature and relief from his knotted muscles merging together into a bizarre expression.

Magnus doesn't comment, just adjusts the towel before sitting back on the bed.

"When I came to see you in London, you had your kettle in the bedroom," he says, trying to keep his voice even and calm. "This isn't an isolated accident."

Alec shakes his head, shame spreading quickly on his face and Magnus can’t leave him like this, can’t let Alec believe for even a second that he should feel ashamed about it.

Carefully, he takes him in his arms, rocking him gently.

“It’s gone, you survived and you didn’t deserve any of that. Seoul is just a point on a map Alexander, it can’t hurt you anymore. You don’t have to hide this -or anything else- from me,” he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

Alec nods, faintly, and Magnus continues to rock him well into the night, boiling water twice again before the phantom pain in Alexander’s thigh subsides enough for him to fall asleep, exhausted.

Magnus stays awake though, watching him. Seoul is just a faraway city; that dirty basement thousands and thousands of miles away, but Magnus might as well be trapped there himself. Not for the first time in the last six months, Magnus wishes he could have killed Camille himself, could have make her _suffer_. He doesn’t want to analyse this new streak in him. Magnus feels himself smiling. There is nothing new about wanting to burn anyone that hurt him or his, just the intensity...  The important thing, he reminds himself, is that she is dead, that she can’t hurt anyone now.

Yet her gloating back in Scotland is fresh in Magnus’ mind and the scars she left on Alec still painful.

 

*****

**THEN**

Magnus dragged himself to his work station, bloodshot eyes barely opened. He was nursing the greatest hangover of his life, hiding behind sunglasses to avoid the stares of the bloody interns around him (Magnus was, with Rafa, the only person in his entourage that could pull off shades in the middle of the night, let alone deep in the bowels of the SIS building). Maintaining superiority was a trick that Magnus mastered a long time ago -and something he had difficulties to shake off when it was appropriate.

Saint Bibiana, patron of hangovers, had left him to suffer his fate, though. Too damn much tequila… he shouldn't have let Ragnor goad him into that last series of shots. The other man didn’t care, he was on break, but Magnus should have known not to indulge this much.

Magnus stopped at his station, letting his satchel fall from his shoulder and flipped on his swirling chair before closing his eyes for a moment.

Woody was out of the hospital. Well, he had been released yesterday (absolutely not the reason Magnus had downed drink after drink after drink last night) and knowing his double-o agent like he did, there would be a bloody snow globe on his desk soon enough.

“Magnus!”

Magnus jumped, fluttering his eyes against the harsh neon light of the Handlers floor. Catarina was standing at his desk, one hand on her hip and the other clutching his sunglasses.

“What in the frigid hell, Cat!”

“Snoring isn’t permitted here,” she mock-cooed before shaking her head in disapproval, her blue tipped box braids following the movement and Magnus got distracted, because it was pretty and it was _new_ and he felt a bit hurt that she hadn’t snapchatted him to show her new hairdo right after she got it.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he protested weakly. He wasn’t entirely sure, but denial was required if only for appearance's sake. After all she was technically his boss.

Catarina threw his sunglasses on the desk (and that would have raised hell if he hadn’t be so damn tired), looking a second away from knocking him down with one of his keyboards and going full on Panda commercial on his arse.

“Schedule changed, you have to get ready,” she finally informed him before walking back to her own station without another word.

Magnus frowned. While Woody had been recovering from Prague ( _“Bleedin’ internally, ‘think.”_ Woody’s hoarse voice echoed in the back of his mind), he had been kept busy by the other double-os and lesser field agents.

Oh, well. They were all absolutely boring. A change could be good. He just hoped that he wouldn’t have to do go the Archive again to save Rafa’s boyfriend (ex? He wasn’t sure if they were together at the moment) from minor mainframe glitches.

He turned to one of his monitors to log in the system but stopped immediately, eyes zeroing on the broken snow globe sitting on the far corner of his desk.

 _Praha_.

So that arsehole of an agent had already been down there, eager to remind Magnus that he nearly got him killed. Magnus couldn't blame him. Not really. The Red Thief -his _baby-_ had been responsible for lots of death and mayhem in the Czech capital. He hadn’t know if Woody was dead or alive after the audio and video feeds were cut off and Magnus had lost it then, a full blown panic attack reducing his brain to _I killed him, oh my God I killed him_ until Ragnor had appeared at his side, a plastic bag in his hands, forcing Magnus to breath inside before frog marching him to the elevator and sending up to freak out with Izzy (and out of the way)... he and the Q junior had sat quietly at her work station, waiting, waiting, waiting for news that could not, realistically, be good.

And yet.

Ragnor had called him down, saying that 009 was fine. He cried. Izzy cried. Rafa brought them overly sweet coffee, a wetness in his eyes that Magnus didn’t dare comment.

Of course, Woody had to get wrecked by a FSB agent just before getting safely back to London. _Agents_ … It wasn’t for nothing that the Handlers’ floor had been the epicenter of an sickenly inappropriate deadpool as the field operatives were reckless arses and their handlers rotten dicks. Until Magnus had screamed so hard at the interns and junior handlers that he was this close to losing a lung, his voice and his job. It had been worth it, to make Rufus _understand_ that no one was betting (or cashing money) on Alexander Lightwood kicking the proverbial bucket.

The offensive snow globe from Prague was broken, its glass dome reduced to sharp edges like fangs around a plastic castle. Magnus quickly hid the thing in one of his drawers, the very sight of it revolting him and bringing back guilt and pain that he didn’t know how to deal with. Staring at those damn things too long never got him anywhere.

He logged in and took his _For Queen and Cookie_ mug to the kitchenette, liberally pouring Tessa’s attempt at coffee inside and went back to his desk to truly begin his day.

What he discovered there made him wish he could have whisky in that mug instead and Alexander Gideon Lightwood within arm's length to hit repeatedly with a crowbar. Because despite being out of the hospital for less that twenty four hours, 009 was on a plane headed for Seoul. His goddamn scumbag of a mother had already assigned him to a mission and he probably had nodded his well earned (and overdue) mandatory three weeks break away like the good soldier he was so obsessed in being would..

 _To think that I am in love with that ba..._ Magnus stopped himself right there, swallowing his feelings back and pushed them out of the way. He shouldn’t be surprised... Alec’s sense of duty would get him killed one day despite Magnus’ attempts at keeping him alive a little bit longer. A pointless endeavor, really, but Magnus was in too deep.

He unlocked his phone and sent a message to Isabelle and Jace.

 **He’s back on the field.** The simple sentence flooded him with rage and he had to be careful not to smack his phone on the desk too hard when he put it down.

Without really waiting for a reply, he read the Seoul mission brief and sighted. It didn’t seem overly taxing: just shadowing a british diplomat in Seoul for a few days and overseeing his security details. The man had received some threats and his connections in the british government had petitioned MI6 for help.

Typical open-and-shut case, Alec and Magnus could do that in their sleep. It was probably nothing but local pressure to see how malleable the newly appointed ambassador was. Magnus pulled everything he could find on current affairs between South Korea and England from the Archives, as well as with Japan, China and North Korea to be sure.

His phone beeped once then a second time, while he was glossing over of a smug-worded report detailing how the North Korean ambassador in London was about to defect to South.Korea

**Jace, 7:36 am - he didn’t even call**

**Izzy, 7:37 am - I’m going to kill her. Bring him home please.**

Magnus sighed again. Promises like these were impossible to fulfill around here. Izzy still asked anyway and Magnus, by some bloody cosmic chance, hadn’t fucked up so monumentally that Alec was coffin material just yet.

He didn’t answer them, they had been doing this sad and weird circle jerking reassurance out of each other  for long enough. Instead, Magnus exhaled and dived into work.

 

“All I’m saying is that you could have simply waited, I was a second away from frying his comm system,” Magnus growled.

“And you still get to do that, I just made sure he couldn’t call for help in the meantime.”

Cocky. _Bastard_.

Woody was smiling at him through his eye contact cameras as he adjusted his tie in the elevator’s mirror. It wasn’t one of the smiles he dazzled his marks with because it was too small. It was his Magnus-smile (and Magnus winced at the thought, heart and brain vehemently arguing about the wording), something private that he might just reserve for his handler, even if Magnus had no real way of knowing. Hoping was on the table unfortunately. Through a second monitor, that one displaying four camera feeds from the hotel, Magnus could see the security guard at Woody’s feet, choked and unconscious.

“Yeah, you’re lucky I worked the cameras in a loop first. Also don’t think I didn’t see you flinch when he patted you down. Your stomach’s still hurting?” he asked, tone not matching his considerable concern for his agent.

And like (dark, _dark_ ) magic, Woody’s smile turned into a frown and he closed his eyes. Magnus could still see him through the elevator camera, hands clenched in tight fists and rolling his neck from side to side.

“Babe, I’m _fine,_ ” the double-o said, reopening his eyes. His face was blank from any expression, his tone half cutting and half begging in that mix only he could perform.

It was Magnus’ turn to flinch. _Babe_ , what a joke… that was a fight that his brain and his battered heart never settled on.

“He said, absolutely not fine.” Magnus couldn’t help the derisive sound he made before continuing, acid. “But whatever, mother knows best.” That last jab was for Maryse, in case she reviewed the mission log later.

Woody didn’t answer, just stared at the numbers above the doors, going up, up. Soon. Magnus glanced at the 30th floor camera feeds, fingers tapping commands for the drone he had on stand by on the roof.

“Nothing on the cameras, but the drone is picking two heat signatures in the Presidential Suite… just like she said.”

“Delightful.”

The situation wasn’t. Two days ago, the diplomat they were supposed to babysit had gone missing. Not exactly kidnapped, since they couldn’t find any evidence of foul play, but he just… vanished. _From the British Embassy_. No one was pleased and Woody and Magnus had spent the last 48 hours sniffing any lead that could lead back to him. This was their second to last hope to not be annihilated by M and probably benched and put them out of rotation (a good thing for Woody but a very unpleasant experience for Magnus if he was assigned to interns training or something as equally beneath him).

On Magnus’ monitor, 009 made his way through the 30th floor dragging the unconscious guard after him and knocked on the door in morse.

Camille Belcourt opened the door a minute later, wearing only a black lace negligee, a domino mask and holding a vicious looking riding crop.

“Ah, 009, finally,” she was using that come hither voice and the seductive manners that went with it, gesturing for Woody to follow her inside and Magnus just knew she wasn’t acting like that for the double-o agent in front of her. Once the door was closed she added, “Hi Magnus,” and wincked at him through Woody’s eye contact cameras, “how much do you like my outfit?”

Magnus groaned and gulped down a big mouthful of coffee. He wasn’t in the mood for Camille’s taunting.

“003,” Woody said curtly, “You have our intel?” He checked the security guard manacles and left him by the suite door, but not before stuffing his tie into his mouth as a gag.

“Now, don’t be so hasty,” Camille rolled her eyes, “I worked hard to have this little bird ready to sing.”

She laughed and looked Alec up and down disdainfully probably just for Magnus’ benefit. They had broke up more than half a year ago but she didn’t seem to be able to let go and, well. She knew Magnus… he might have never told her about his feelings for Alexander, he doubted they were that hard to see. She was, after all, the one that had thrown a fit when Magnus had refused to quit Woody to become her handler.

Sadly, it said a lot about Magnus that he had chose to be with a woman that turned out to treat him little better that his father used to, cold and barely satisfied by even the best Magnus could think off. They had lasted until she _demanded_ that he obeyed her, making it crystal clear that she was breaking up with him if he didn’t became her handler instead of Woody’s.

Magnus, desperate for affection or not, had shown her the door. No one ordered him about, period.

She walked Woody to the bedroom, his eyes lingering on the clothes thrown around and the general state of the suite: empty champagne bottles on the floor and couches, bunny ears left on the coffee table, two abandoned bras… someone must have thrown a party and ushered the guest (strippers, probably) out before they could recover some of their stuff.

The scene in front of Magnus (well, in front of Woody) was pretty nauseating.

A man in his fifties was chained on the posted bed and what seemed to be a sex shop worth of BDSM accessories were scattered around the bedroom. The man was naked and blindfolded and Magnus thanked Woody when the spy averted his eyes from the guy crotch and the exposed sparkly dildo in his arse.

One thing to say about Camille, she knew how to pick them.

“Now, where were we?” Camille asked loudly, tone cajoling.

The man _keened_ as Camille spoke and she giggled at his reaction - _at him_ , derisive and cold. Magnus suppressed a shudder, he knew that giggle all too well. Woody signed something to Camille then, asking her how she wanted to proceed since it was her catch.

She shrugged, climbing on the bed to rip the blindfold from the guys face. It took more time for the man to realize that he and Camille weren’t alone than for the face recognition program to ID him.

Lee Yung-Ha. As in, director Lee Yung-Ha, of the National Intelligence Service of South Korea. Apparently Camille hadn’t taken seriously the memo explicitly banning (metaphorically and _literally_ ) fucking with other agencies.

_Oh boy._

How she had even got close to the man (or managed to do so with only a security guard in the lobby of the hotel) was beyond Magnus but he shouldn't be surprise, she was after all the second best double-o agent in MI6 after Luke.

The man, finally, caught sight of Woody, lust draining from his face and quickly replaced by incomprehension and fear, topped with a healthy dose of anger as he tried to get out of the manacles Camille had used to bound him.

“Yeah, I don’t think he had a threesome in mind for tonight,” Magnus commented.

“Me neither,” Woody answered. He was clearly amused and Magnus, like an idiot, preened. His common sense usually didn’t last long with Woody around (aroundish, as the man avoided him like the Black Plague).

“That’s the director of the South Korean Secret Services by the way,” Magnus informed him reluctantly. “Not that I’ll judge a man for what he puts up his arse but really? This is ridiculous.”

Woody snorted and Magnus’ heart did that really funny thing when it stopped and missed a beat. Even if he had taught himself to be everything he needed to be -prideful of his work and his accomplishments- Magnus wasn’t built for self preservation and Alexander Lightwood had a sign around his neck reading _RUINATION_ that Magnus ignored like a champ. Every. Single. Time.

“Oh, did H11 cracked a funny? Not his best skill of course,” Camille disclosed faux-lightly, her hand tight on Lee Yung-Ha’s mouth to stop his attempts at shouting, “but _you_ wouldn't know about that 009.”

Woody rolled his eyes, emphatically, cameras following the motion for five good seconds.

“003? The _intel_?” Woody was losing his patience. Magnus sighed, a headache was coming in strong now.

“Well, you’re really no fun, no wonder why he plays around so much…” she trailed off, looking pleased with herself as her eyes settled back on Woody.

 _Did she just slut shame me?_ Magnus exhaled, forcing his jaw to unclench.

Camille got off the bed and let her prisoner’s scream for help. “Oh come oooon, Lee, the floor is empty but for the three of us. We just need to know where is Charles Rayes.”

“The-the _ambassador_?” the man hissed. “As if I fucking knew!”

“Wrong answer dear, my colleague here is less graceful than I am. You don’t want him asking the question.”

“I told you Camille! I don’t know!”

Magnus barely had time to register that the man knew 003’s real name and wonder about it that she was already taking out a phone from a purse on the floor and made a show of taking a few compromising pictures. Magnus noted that the director was sweating profusely now, his eyes going from Woody to 003 every two seconds or so in panic.

“We’re not above blackmail. Or leaking this to the press immediately,” she said looking down at her phone with a chuckle. “Think about your wife, Lee.”

“Or you could help us by telling everything you guys have on our missing ambassador,” Alec concluded. Magnus had to snort at the tone Woody was using, all business like and clean.

The man seemed, finally, to have weighed his options. “All we know is that he requested more security after receiving threats… some MI6 hot shot was coming to investigate.” He looked at Alec, suspicious. “Guess you couldn’t be bothered to do your job.”

Magnus had to give the man points for the balls of steel he was showing (pun intended) while being cuffed and threatened by two MI6 agents.

“Let me have a go at his phone,” Magnus asked Woody.

His agent asked Camille for the director’s phone, which she provided. She had taken out the battery and Alec just placed a bug inside before turning the phone on again.

A few minute later (Camille had used the blindfold to gag the director), Magnus was deep inside the phone’s files and accessed a handful of mails highlighting diverse leads about the missing ambassador.

“Well, his people are looking into Rayes’ disappearance too but nothing conclusive… nothing we haven’t looked into. It’s a fucking dead end,” Magnus sweared under his breath and Woody echoed him at loud.

“Shit,” he took a huge, forced inhalation and said, “so we’re screwed.”

“We’re not the only ones… M is _pissed_ at Camille. Tell her that she’s going to get murdered too when she comes back.” Magnus had received a terse note from the MI6 leader a few minutes ago and he was glad that he was the messenger and not the one it was destined too. Apparently, her little game with the director of a foreign surveillance agency wasn’t M’s cup of tea. Magnus had a feeling that she was more angry about it than the missing diplomat.

Alec glanced at Camille, who had changed into a red dress and was now collecting her stuff from around the room.

“Why can’t her handler do it?” he muttered.

“We’re kinda short staffed at the moment Woody, she’s flying blind,” Magnus explained, not entirely satisfied by the notion. Not worried, just weirded out. “She was already in Seoul for unrelated business, which as you know is M-speak for _don’t fucking ask or I’ll bury you so deep in a blacksite that your arsehole will appear sunny in comparison_.”

Woody choked, clearing his throat against a laugh and Magnus smiled. Rince and repeat. Doomed didn’t begin to encompass how screwed Magnus was when it came to his double-o.

“Didn’t you mean sparkly?” Woody asked, eyes resolutely _not_ looking at the dildo that Camille had been obligating enough to get out of the director’s arse when he grumbled about it earlier. She had even covered the man with a sheet, like she was trying to salvage the relationship for further use. Now the man just looked middly put out, glaring at Alec and Camille from the bed.

“Oh, You’ve got jokes toni-” Magnus’ not so witty retort was cut short by a beep and, as he glanced at his third monitor, he felt all his blood freeze.

“He’s alive,” he said at first, not quite computing what he was reading. But after a double and triple check, he added, “Charles Rayes walked back into the Embassy not three minutes ago... he’s hurt, but it’s just superficial.”

“What?” Woody asked sharply. That attracted Camille’s attention and she got closer to Alec.

“I don’t know, the embassy just contacted us. You better head back there…”

Woody relayed the news to Camille, who frowned.

“That doesn’t make any sense, no one asked for a ransom,” she voiced.

“I’ll go back, you, hum,” Woody stopped, looked around the bedroom and continued, “got this?”

“Of course I do… Lee and I have an _understanding_ ,” she laughed. “Pinch H11’s cute arse for me when you get back, pity he doesn’t let me do it anymore.” And with a salacious wink, she hushed Woody from the bedroom and out of the suite.

Magnus couldn’t be sure, but Woody might have whispered _bitch_ as she all but slammed the door closed behind him. 

 

Problem is, Woody never made it back to the embassy.

A minute he was in his car, driving way too fast for Magnus’ tastes and a bathroom break later, Magnus was greeted by blackness instead of Woody’s eye contact cameras feed. Magnus frowned, putting back his earpiece and joking that his driving skills would not improve by closing his eyes… but no one answered.

Magnus tracked the car, pulled off the CCTV footage of it and right there, his heart stopped and not in a cutsie _I’m so in love with you_ way.

Woody’s car was burning.

Catarina must have heard him shout, because suddenly she was by his side, nagging at him for a second and then, she felt silent too.

She was the one that pressed play, Magnus’ eyes glued to the screen despite whatever she was telling him. Woody’s car speeding on the highway, a truck entering the frame and the crash, dragging the car for a few seconds, stopping, people descending -unhurried- and extracting Woody, putting him in their truck and driving away and, a few seconds later, the car bursting into flames...

Magnus knew that he should feel something. He should. But his heart had stopped and didn’t seem to want to beat anymore.

“Okay, he’s not dead,” he heard himself say. “Call M-”

“Magnus!” Cat cut him.

“tell her that we need-”

“Magnus!” she said again.

“all hands on deck to find him.”

“Magnus! M won’t approve.”

“003 is already in Seoul, 007 is on a break, put him on a fucking plane Cat or so help me God I’ll-”

She puts her hands on his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes, “Or what Magnus?”

The fight went out of him -at least towards her.

“I’m going to call M, and his mother. Then I’ll call 007. Contact Camille and try locating him,” she ordered before kissing his forehead and going back to her work station.

Magnus blinked tears away, glowering at interns that were gaping at him and dialed Camille immediately.

 

Twelve hours later, Luke was on his way to Camille’s safe house. Magnus was in the middle of briefing him about the South Korean Secret Services and why, exactly, their director was so eager to help, when to his astonishment, Woody’s video and audio feeds came back online. Tracking him had been impossible, but he had escaped!

Magnus’ relief was short lived.

There was a faint noise. It took Magnus several seconds to recognize it as shallow and irregular breathing, wheezing more than anything else -painful to hear and probably worst to take.

“Mister 009, come on, don’t be shy,” somebody said in Magnus’ ear. No, in _Woody’s ear_.

And Woody opened his eyes, barely, blinking furiously in the harsh light in front of him. It didn’t take a genius to realize that one of his eyes must be swollen, because his field of vision was restrained.

“Ah, waking up, finally.”

A faint accent was audible in Woody’s interlocutor’s voice, but Magnus couldn’t place it -so, not waiting for approval, he linked the audio feed to a language expert they had in the Archives, tagging the file with the highest priority level. The light in Woody’s eyes prevent any face recognition… they would have to rely on voices alone.

Someone put a mirror in front of Woody, letting Magnus see the damage and that it was 009 sitting there, face a massive bruise of purple and blue and wet red. Fingers barely working, he sent a message to M to alert her. He didn’t receive any notification that she had connected in and that she was _watching_ but he knew.

“Woody? Woody nod if you hear me, please,” Magnus said and to hell with regulations.

There wasn’t any reaction and Magnus forced himself to breathe, to _think_. They must have hacked in Woody’s comms system and deactivated his incoming audio link. They wanted MI6 to see, to hear and 009 to simmer in fear. He was probably too out of it to realize what purpose the mirror in front of his face had held.

 _Alone. He think he’s alone_. Magnus screamed internally, the urge to reach through the screen and destroy those people like nothing before.

“Now, from the top. What’s your name?” the man asked without urgency or violence. Magnus could have mistaken the tone for a friendly one.

No answer.

A pause.

A blood curdling scream and Woody closed his eyes in pain.

Magnus flinched.

“What’s. Your. Name?” Now the tone had an undercurrent of impatience, but still controlled, still polite.

“‘Lec Lightwo-” Woody coughed for a moment, the video feed getting blurry with tears. He looked down, and Magnus caught something red on his lap and then gone as someone with a balaclava forcing his face up to the light.

A notification pop on the side of one monitor, the language expert: **Using voice modification, impossible to descramble**.

Magnus swore and opened a prompt window on third monitor and started his custom tracking program… it was still in an experimental phase, but it might pick up something that the MI6 issued programs were blind to. A wild shot, but Woody’s comms system was emitting _from somewhere_ and Magnus had to try. He doubted that his agent’s captors would just make it easy for him thought. The program could run in the background and Magnus felt useless the second he finished feeding the searched parameters to his program. Hacking wasn’t that glorious when there wasn’t anything to hack into.

He switched channel, but let 009’s audio feed on.

“007? They made contact and are broadcasting 009’s… interrogation.”

Luke didn’t answer at first. He took several breaths, calculated and even, before he said, “Okay. I’m at the safe house, 003 is talking to someone on the phone, I think she’s trying to negotiate with some of her North Korean contacts to see if they know something. Where do you need me?”

On Woody’s monitor, a man was showing him a scalpel and some kind of clamp. His breathing was ragged and quick and Magnus realized that Woody was trying to make himself pass out.

The man took out his phone and began to scroll down, before he said, “Academy trained, of course, but you went through the selection and the continuation training of the Special Boat Services before you were finally accepted in MI6 and their cute double-o program… Impressive. You’re tough, tougher than most. I see lots of scars on you too. And you’re, what, twenty five?”

“I-I… I don’t know,” Magnus answered to Luke, realizing that he let himself pulled into what was happening to Woody, that his breathing had began to match his agent. “There is nothing I can do.”

“H11, we will find him-” Luke assured.

“You must be good with water, I’ll take,” the man was saying conversationally, god it was the disgustingly friendly tone again, “I wonder how long you can go without air.”

“He’s tough, he’ll make it,” Luke continued.

“Let’s see,” the man made a sharp gesture and Woody was dragged away. He tried to protest, but there wasn’t much force in him it seemed and Magnus flinched when he hear how Woody’s voice sounded, small and _scared_.

They plunged him head first in a water tank, forcing him down, bubbles obscuring everything.

“No one is that strong,” Magnus heard himself say.

" _I'm not,_ " he thought… a few seconds later, he was barfing in his trash can, stomach emptying and its content replaced by pure panic. This couldn’t be the end. _It couldn’t._

 

Hours passed. Not a question of real importance was asked of Woody, nothing beside a thorough background check and, it might have been Magnus’ brain giving up and crawling away from sense but it sounded more like a job interview than an interrogation.

 

Camille and Luke were going nowhere with their investigations but it was getting clear that whomever had kidnapped the ambassador had done so to get Alec (or at least a MI6 agent) and Magnus felt sick. He should have seen this coming, should have already pieced the clues back together, should have-

Should have not fell for someone with no regard for his own life or safety.

Should have stepped down as his handler as soon as he realized he was in love him.

Should stop staring at Woody’s video feed, should turn off the audio, should go home and let someone that could concentrate do their bloody job and save him.

But Magnus couldn’t.

Not when Woody was begging for the torture to stop, for the punches to slow down, the stainless steel of the medical instruments to be kept away from him. Magnus wasn’t ready to admit it, but he didn’t want Alexander Lightwood to die alone.

 

Someone put a steaming coffee mug under Magnus nose, before putting it on the desk.

Someone was forcing Woody to watched as they cut into his left thigh and he was screaming, screaming so loudly that Magnus had to turn the sound down a little. Not all the way. If his agent had to go through this, so had Magnus.

“You should go home,” Tessa said.

Magnus frowned, he hadn’t realized who had brought him the coffee or that she was still there. “I’ll go home when he does,” he rasped through gritted teeth.

She sighed but went away and Magnus exhaled, checking his tracking program and feeding it new names, new potential suspects -everyone that Woody might have crossed since the day he was born, from that guy that at the Academy who had been expelled because Woody had exposed his cheating at an exam to terrorist organisations that would do anything to get a live MI6 agents.

Magnus wanted to extend that monitoring to agencies that MI6 might have made look bad, but just like he said to Alec before his kidnapping, handlers were stretched thin at the moment. Which was obviously working in the kidnappers’ fa-

Shit.

_SHIT._

Whoever did this had inside intel, knew that a full fledged research would be impossible. He sent a quick note to M, bypassing Maryse, telling her what he suspected -it doesn’t change much, he couldn’t do a thing still, but if someone in the MI6 was responsible for what was happening to Woody, Magnus wanted them found and _crucified_.

 

He woke up to silence. He frowned, blinking the sleep away quickly. He didn’t meant to take a nap, to have respite. The silence was weird after hearing Woody’s screams and begging and falling apart.

The video feed was still up, but it was clear there was only one camera working now. And the earpiece must have finally gave out with all the water -or they cut the audio.

Woody was alone, for once, head lolling from side to side and straightening at a weird rhythm; the blinding light in his eyes had been turned off, leaving Magnus able to see the disgusting room Woody was held in. His thigh… Magnus took a double take at the screen, bile rising in his throat, in his mouth, the taste of it making him nauseous.

Woody’s thigh was torn open from hip to knee, wet and dry blood, bright red or dark flakes covering everything, the muscles and sinew torn apart. A butchery.

“007?” Magnus called.

“Yeah?”

“I-I think they left him to die. He’s in a basement. They’re letting me see a basement.”

Luke didn’t answer. He swore though. Magnus felt like fainting but he bit his tongue viciously, refusing to go back to blissful unconsciousness.

“Tell me you have something 007,” he begged his friend.

“We’re following a lead... 003 says it’s stupid and I’m half with her on that, but we’re still checking it out. I cleared it with M and H7 when you took a break.”

“You should have woken me up,” Magnus snapped, eyes riveted on Woody’s video feed, fearing that the the little motions would stop for good.

“No, you needed to sleep,” Luke’s voice didn’t left much place for argument, but Magnus wasn’t in his right mind.

“ _I need him safe!_ He’s my a-” his voice broke on the word, on the lie. _Agent_ …

“I know what he means to you. What you mean to him -however stupidly he chooses to show it. He’ll try to kick my arse if I let you hurt yourself,” Luke chuckled, sounding sad.

Magnus winced. He never liked discussing his feelings for Alexander with others.

“What’s the lead?” he asked instead of arguing about whatever Woody might or might not feel about him.

“Someone heard whispers of a North Korean refugee being a little too curious about what the NSA is willing to pay for fresh intel -thing is, the guy is in Seoul since ‘06, and was debriefed then by the authorities so I keep wondering what the hell he could have to say to anyone that they never heard before. Could be nothing, could be 009. Like I said, 003 isn’t on board, she thinks that going after that guy might make us cross hairs with the americans and the south koreans. I think it’s worth the shot. She’s… not happy about it.”

Magnus frowned. Camille had proven earlier that she was willing to piss foreign intelligence agencies; going after one guy and asking questions wasn’t as dangerous as trapping the director of the South Korean secret services on a hotel bed in his birthday suit.

“H7 had a few choice words for her,” Luke added. “We’re at the apartment building okay? I’ll call you if I need anything, H7 had to get back to his real assignment.”

“Okay…” Magnus looked down at his coffee mug and forced himself to say, “I’ll go take a coffee.” God knew he needed the stuff or he would topple over. No more nap.

After a last glance to Woody’s video feed to make sure that he was still moving (Magnus refused to think about all the drugs that might be swimming in his bloodstream), he went to the kitchenette for a refill.

Magnus drank his coffee slowly, managing to not burn his tongue and made his way back to his work station.

A man wearing a mask was hovering right in front of Woody’s face.

Magnus put back his earpiece, but it still was static. There was no way of knowing if the guy was talking or just trying to creep Alec and whomever might by watching. The mask was plain and white, expressionless.

There were other people in the room though. They were wearing balaclavas and just standing there, like they were waiting.

Magnus connected back to Luke’s comms.

“They’re back with him,” he announced. He couldn’t decide if he should feel hopeful that they might keep Alexander around for a bit or sicken that the torture would not be over.

“H11, I was just about to call, you need to see this,” Luke said.

Magnus frowned but connected to Luke’s video feed immediately, displaying it right next to Woody’s. The image flickered and Magnus was greeted with a poster map of Seoul, annotated and color coded, pinned on a wall.

Magnus' eyes immediately found the stretch of highway where Woody’s kidnapping had taken place. The spot was bright red while the words ‘ **안전 가옥** _’_ had been scattered dozen of times on the map in green, ‘ **차** _’_ marked at least forty times in black, with hundreds other annotations in korean.

He fed the image of the map to a digitalisation program and let the MI6’s standard map of Seoul update with the new intel.

“You find the guy?”

Luke turn away from the map and looked down to a body. “He tried to kill us, 003 shot him,” Luke was obviously angry about this but Camille didn’t appear to be concerned and was currently looking through a pile of documents.

The map of Seoul pinged and Magnus looked at it to see the updated intel, all the korean translated in english.

“Okay we have…,” Magnus did a double take, not believing what Luke had just found, “we have thirteen safe houses on that bloody map, CCTV cameras emplacements, coded itineraries to get out of the highway unseen, gateway cars storages… 007, this is-”

On Woody’s monitor, the masked guy decided to move and punched him on the face.

“H11?”

Magnus swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Nothing.” He accessed the uplink to the Seoul CCTV network and looked for the man Camille killed, three different face rec programs working side by side.

Another punch.

“The map doesn't have any clue about what safe house they could be using, or if they used one…” Magnus trailed of, mind trying to focus as he accessed GPS intel from the man’s phone, comparing it to the map, but no such luck. “We could dispatch Seoul Police to those locations but that a lot of noise we would be making.”

Luke was frantically looking through the apartment with Camille, looking for a clue, when Magnus saw it, from the corner of his eyes -well, Luke’s eyes.

“Wait what is this, that bright red flyer?”

Another punch.

Luke picked it up from the pile that Camille had dismissed. It was a take away flyer with a menu written on the back and Magnus fed the image to the translation program.

The addressed pinged, appearing bright red on the Seoul map, not a block away from a apartment building that was labeled as _safe house_ . The elation Magnus felt then was like a kick in the stomach. _Please be it. Please_.

“007, get you arse in a car right now, I found him.”

“You’re sure?” Luke sounded cautiously hopeful.

“Yes!” Magnus roared, he needed this to be the place, he needed to save the man he loved, needed to have a chance to tell him, needed him to be alive. If he was wrong...

 

It was quick after that, a blur.

Magnus had the other safe houses raided by the local Police and some agents from the South Korean secret services while Luke and Camille hopefully stormed Woody’s location.

On 009’s monitor, there was a commotion, people obviously panicking, some running away. The man with the mask stopped mid motion, dropping the baseball bat he had been swinging and got close to Woody’s face again, staring, staring… Magnus had the disgusting feeling that _he_ was the one being stared at, not Woody.

The man stood up, rearranged his cuffs and walked away, Woody trying to follow him but his eyes kept closing, more and more often. A few seconds laters, Luke’s monitor and Woody’s were a reflection of the other and Magnus immediately ordered the EMT outside the building to run in.

Luke saw Woody, gunned three men in balaclavas that had stayed behind and ran to Woody, Camille said that she would catch the rest while he took care of 009.

When Woody saw Luke, he didn’t react, not at first, his droopy eyes going over 007 without recognition… and then. His eyes went wide opened and, through Luke’s comms, Magnus could hear a mumble, too weak to form words but his relief was painfully clear and the tears that began to flow took Magnus’ last shred of calm with them.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Luke was saying softly, averting to look at Alec’s left thigh, concentrating on cutting down the zip ties that were holding him.

Tension left Magnus in a crashing wave, leaving shattered bones and painful fatigue behind. Alexander Lightwood was safe.

At the back of his mind, Magnus couldn’t help but wonder for how long.

 

*****

**NOW**

Magnus is watching Alec sleep. He seems peaceful now, the traces of his ordeal mostly gone. It’s just an impression, though. Magnus knows that the pain is still there, waiting to strike again, the scars too deep to ever stop bothering Alexander.

Camille hadn’t waited for a day after Magnus’ abduction from the SIS building to gloat about how Alec was dead, that _this time_ , she had got the job done properly. Magnus remembers everything vividly, the glee in her voice, the way she was playing with her gun, grazing the canon against Magnus’ neck, his temple…

Magnus had frowned at the _this time_ and she was so happy about that too, about how _clueless_ he had been. She laid it out for him then, voice like a slap in his face. Seoul had been her idea. _She_ set the trap, _she_ contacted the North Koreans and work them into shape.

“Not enough,” Magnus had said, defiance coming from god knew where despite Camille’s gun pointed on him and his mind trying to process Woody being dead, memories of Seoul and the betrayal of Camille.

That had earned him a real slap.

“Morgenstern said we had to try and reel you in on your own volition, I thought seeing your precious double-heart eyes die might build some hate towards MI6 but, well… here we are... that wouldn't have happened to him if you would have just became my handler Babe” she said, delighted.

Magnus had refused to believe that Alec was dead. Refused. The guy wasn’t in the building, he was moping at home, safe and sound when the attack occurred. Refused. Still finding him (or him finding Magnus?) in that lab had his entire being burning up in all consuming relief.

Magnus hadn’t told Alec about what really transpire in Seoul yet, he didn’t have the words for it, except “ _my fault, my fault, my fault._ ” Alexander would protest, would logic Magnus out of his guilt and he wasn’t ready for that. Not until Morgenstern and Verlac lay dead at their feet and this place was gone in flames.

Beside him, Alec grunt in his sleep and Magnus soothes a finger on the crease between his brows.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you,” he murmurs.

He’s getting them out of here, _no matter what_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/)
> 
> Title from _Licence to Kill _by Gladys Knight__  
>  Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments show appreciation <3


	3. Another inch of your life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, Yeah!
> 
> (if you follow my messy progress on tumblr, you might notice the chapter is half of the word count i announced... that because I cut it in two! I don't really think it works as well, but I was feeling quite guilty about not updating in time for you)

Alec wakes up feeling like shit, frowning at the pain in- everywhere. Fuck. Yesterday’s training was brutal, especially after six months of going easy on himself (which he deserved, damn it, he’s not apologizing for that). The fight with Verlac had been worse, though. Alec had wanted nothing more than to snap his neck right then and there, kids watching or not, for everything the man had done and keeps on doing, unpunished.

He feels his right hand spasms, tension gathering in the fingers, muscles memory and wishful thinking taking over.

_Shit._

The only part of him that isn’t a mess is the top of his head, and that’s only because Magnus is currently carding his fingers in his hair, slow and soothing. Alec is plastered to Magnus’ side, one leg thrown over his thighs and his head resting on his bare chest.

He takes a careful breath, minding the dull throbbing in his left side; then another, acutely aware that he’s matching Magnus’ respiration pattern, using the heartbeat underneath his ear like a metronome for his own.

“Hey sleepy head,” Magnus greets easily.

Alec doesn’t have to dislodge his head from Magnus’ chest and turn to look at him to know that Magnus is tired, the weariness in his voice and half aborted yawns are telling enough. His heart clenches at the idea of Magnus staying awake through the night, making sure that he was okay, like some kind of scared vigil to Alec’s broken sleep.

Or perhaps rethinking his involvement altogether -Alec wouldn’t hold it against him. He never wanted this for him; to have to endure Alec’s sharp edges and to cut himself as he holds him. It’s unfair and selfish and god, he did fight against this, until he fooled himself that it could work...

“Hey,” he says back, snuggling closer to his lover, acknowledging that he’s instinctively seeking comfort a last time before he’s not allowed anymore and Magnus tells him it’s too much, any seconds now... “I’m so-”

“Don’t,” Magnus says, cutting his apologies short before taking his hand out of Alec’s hair to quickly wind his arms around him, but Alec still mourns the loss. “You don’t have to apologize for your PTSD, love. Never,” Magnus urges.

It sounds so easy like this, warm and close to the man he loves, even in pain, feeling safe in his arms. But even then, he know he can’t build himself up around Magnus. That’s not fair to either of them.

Alec chastises himself for being so quick to think Magnus would give up on him so readily, he knows better, was proven better, time and time again… and at the same time, he hurts for Magnus: it really would be better for him if he said ‘no more’. But then, when has Magnus ever took the easy road when Alec was concerned?

“I’ll try,” Alec offers, his voice too small for his comfort, snuggling closer against Magnus’ heart. That’s the only thing he can promise but Magnus seems happy with that, murmuring something that Alec doesn’t catch, but his tone is encouraging. Like Alec trying is enough for him.

The thought is pleasant and humbling at the same time and Alec gives Magnus’s chest a small kiss. _I’ll be better_ , he swears. _I’ll heal_.

They breathe quietly like that for a while, at the edge of sleep in Alec’s case. He doesn’t know how early it is, but the hellish wake up call for their earpieces hasn’t sounded yet so it’s before 7 am. He frowns, his sense of time all muddy, incapable of recalling at what hour he came back from the training with the kids and Verlac, or when he and Magnus went to bed.

Or when his nightmare woke him up. Images flash in his mind, disjointed and mute, terror so vivid he feels the bonds around his wrists for a second… he’s awake, so it’s easier to shake it off, but the unease lingers. He doesn’t remember much of Seoul but it has always been enough.

He’s not surprise that his thigh acted up last night. There was just something so unsettling about Verlac, an emptiness that the man didn’t bother hiding. No, he wore it like a badge of honor, like it meant he was superior in some ways - _freak of the year_ , _ten years in a row and proud it_. That called to Alec, scratched at the back of his brain with claws, but so distant and hazy he wasn’t sure why.

White, expressionless mask staring at him, immobile in the dark. He half chuckles. _Yeah, Verlac is precisely like that_ , even if Alec isn’t sure from where the image comes from.

It was clear the instructors had been surprised by Verlac showing up mid training. The already tensed atmosphere had turned rigor mortis stiff and even the younger kids had stood up straighter, silent and hyper aware of the bleached creep presence, as Magnus called him. Verlac wasn’t there for them -Alec had the pain pulsing all over him to prove it. Better him than the kids, though.

“What did you do yesterday?” he asks Magnus, eager to get out of his own head.

“Oh, you know, made some millions for a terrorist organization and stole a shipping company with a phone call,” Magnus says, voice edging between smug and disgusted, “another tuesday at the office.”

“Marsha-” he yawns and hell, that _hurts_ and he can’t muffle his groan of pain. Last night it hadn’t that bad...

“Yes, just that one. You’re hurt,” Magnus comments as unemotionally as he can, but Alec still hear his beating heart, how upset it sounds.

“No cracked ribs, don’t worry. Just bruised skin.” He’s not exactly lying, but Magnus is worried enough as it is. No need to give him an exhaustive catalogue of his bruises, cuts and aches.

“Did you at least stop by the hospital?” Magnus asks, tone betraying that he already knows the answer.

“I needed to come back to you,” Alec blurts out, glad that Magnus can’t see his face, “I didn’t like leaving you here alone.”

That too is the truth, it’s not just that. Sure, he had spent the day worrying about Magnus, but mid morning, he realized that he just wanted to be close to him. Just wanted Magnus in his arms; a pure longing, kinda ridiculous and dangerous considering their current situation and the many ways a distraction like that could hurt them.

Magnus doesn’t answer and Alec shifts around, keeping close still but just so he can see his face.

“We’re such a pair, aren’t we?” Magnus coos affectionately when their eyes meet.

Alec snorts, “yeah, we are.”

Magnus drags him closer, guiding Alec on his lap so they’re face to face.

“You should put a ring on it,” Magnus whispers with intent, so serious that Alec can’t mistake the suggestion for a joke.

Time speeds out of hand for a moment, pushing Alec to a corner of his mind he usually leaves well alone… a life away from Queen and Country; a quiet, messy, _real_ life, with someone he could love, with someone that loved him. A family -perhaps. Definitely a dog. Magnus is a cat person but they can have both. Yeah, definitely. Because Magnus willing, Alec is never leaving him. Ever. That sounds a lot like marriage -or at least the fantasy Alec has about it, his parents being a pretty terrible example. They could make it work. They will-

Then reason overtakes his brain, _what am I even thinking_ ? they’ve been together for a few days and their hearts might have found each other, they also have been fitted with explosives right in their bloody chests. _Magnus makes my brain giggle_ , he can confess that, _but it’s not an excuse_. They can live together for a while and then get married when they’re both reassured that it’s not a reaction to extreme circumstances.

He’s about to say that, eloquently he hopes, when Magnus caresses his collarbone with his left knuckles, rubbing one of his huge rings on it before tapping rhythmically on the bone. It takes Alec a few seconds to understand the staccato of taps.

It’s bloody morse - _morse!_ \- that Magnus is typing on his collarbone.

**.-.. --- --- -.- / -.. --- .-- -.**

_Look down_

Alec kisses Magnus to calm himself and the other man grunts in frustration, perhaps thinking that Alec didn’t recognize the code. Magnus begins to type again but Alec takes his hand in his, bringing it to his mouth to kiss the fingertips, eyes unblinking, even under Magnus’ glare. Alec smiles at him and finally looks down.

_Oh._

“I can’t propose to you with one of your own rings Mags,” he says dumbly, eyes fixed on the pink sapphire that ornates Magnus’ hand. It’s really goes well with his complexion, he was right about that at the cabin… god, two weeks ago. _Just two weeks ago._ Seems like a lifetime away now.

“Nonsense! The tedium of tradition is unbearable, a ring is a ring… but honestly I was just quoting Beyoncé,” Magnus confesses impishly, before rolling his hips _up_.

Alec would be offended if it wasn’t for Magnus’ grip on his right thigh or the bloody _Red Thief_ on his finger.

Magnus gets his hands on Alec’s ass -forcing their bodies closer, as if they weren’t before but somehow he manages- and murmurs “Also, I find it peculiar that you didn’t even suggest that I could put a ring on you…” he kisses Alec’s jaw provocatively, sucking then on his pulse point for some agonizing seconds before releasing the abused skin and adding “which I’ll do gladly one of this days.”

Alec isn’t sure if Magnus is still playing around for anyone that might be listening to them, but he doesn’t care. He’s been Magnus’ for a long time. A piece of paper and a couple of rings can’t do much more.

“Give me a place and a time, I’ll be there,” he says before grinding down on Magnus’ lap. He gasps when he feel Magnus twitch in his underwear, cock quickly filling against the pressure.

“The hospital and now?” Magnus tries weakly.

“ _After_ ,” Alec assures, ignoring the numerous aches in his body for the warmth pooling in his belly and the hardness of his cock hands trailing down Magnus’ chest, to the top of his boxers...

“Bloody you,” Magnus mumbles against his lips, he sounds as gone as Alec, eyes half close and pupils blown out.

“Is that so?” Alec can barely think over the pounding of his heart. He’s crazy with lust and feeling desperate. The knowledge that the Red Thief is here, that they could use it -after finding a way to get rid of those explosives and their wristbands of course- is making the situation a bit less somber and he needs to celebrate. The manic need to be close to Magnus is overpowering, as much as it was last night and barely satiated by the fact he is currently straddling his lover.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he begs against Magnus’ temple, trying to dial down the ‘ _now now now_ ’ ringing in his head and calling for Magnus. They might rush things and Alec doesn’t want that, he wants to savor, wants to pretend they have that kind luxury. And that’s not happening if either of them follow their cocks. "I don't even know what your favorite colour is Magnus -even I know that's bad."

Magnus chuckles and damn, is Alec that transparent? "I can make you a list."  
  
"Let me guess, they all have outlandish names."  
  
"I resent that. A lot. And Are you sure your clearance level gives you access to that? My file is redacted you know.”

Bless the fucking hell, leave it to Magnus to make ‘redacted’ sound like a dirty word… And is he mocking Alec for reading his fake file instead of the real one? _Now?_

Alec asks.

“Not mocking…” Magnus answers, “but you have to admit it’s funny, love. Especially since Izzy has been more than forthcoming when it comes to you, showing me massive amounts of baby pictures.”

The all-consuming fire in Alec pauses and he slows his grinding against Magnus, dumbfounded.

“In the first week of our acquaintance,” Magnus adds with an amused shrug and badly concealed glee.

That kicks Alec from his shocked lethargy. “But we weren’t…”

“She does that to everyone. Really, did Jace have pink braces? or did she photoshop it?”

“Max and Iz dared him, Mum was so mad,” Alec says, trying to imagine what kind of pictures his sister has been proudly sharing around MI6. He isn’t angry, more than aware how hard it must be for her to have two of her brothers being not only field agents but bloody double-os… and Max in training to follow them. If that’s how she copes, then he doesn’t have to judge. Still, some control over what pictures Magnus saw might have been nice… He winces, the retroactive embarrassment catching up with him hard and fast.

“Uh. So you spending a halloween night dressed as Spock is true too?” Magnus looks at him with a gleam in his eyes that Alec feels _all over_. “Will you Pon Farr with me?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows crudely.

Alec frowns. “I have no clue what you just said, Iz always... picked the costumes…” he trails off, unsure how to finish his sentence without sounding more pathetic than he already feels.

Halloween had been a nice tradition in the Lightwood household… until Mum made it clear they were too old for trick or treating and a nanny could do it with Max; until the Academy was all that mattered, and the last shred of normal was ripped out of their lives; until all the fun was sucked right out of Alec for good…

Izzy had rebelled against the measure and somehow convinced the Academy rector to let her throw a Halloween party. It hadn't be the disaster most people thought it would be but Maryse and Robert Lightwood had not been pleased.

At all.

Magnus looks like he can fill out the blanks and takes Alec’s face in his hands to give him a sloppy kiss. “Well, I do get that costume. And let me tell you darling, you were hotter than Zachary Quinto in it.”

“You speak as much nonsense as Rafa’s boyfriend from the Archives,” Alec accuses playfully, before amending “the premium version of him.”

“I resent that,” Magnus says before kissing him and Alec’s bottom lip stings, the cut there throbbing like a punch. It doesn’t stop him from kissing back, with all he has to offer.

“You think you can forgive me?” The heat is coming back, all feverish glee and hunger. Magnus is right, they’re such a pair and he can’t stand to be apart, wants nothing more than to mash himself with Magnus and stay that way forever.

Magnus feigns reflexion, looking away like he’s trying to find it in his heart to accept Alec’s apologies. The huge grin that threatens to take over his face is a dead giveaway that he’s drowning out the sweet, sweet inevitable.

“I could think of something…”

“Yeah, me too,” Alec nods, smirking like a cat who gets the cream _and_ the canary. He shuffles backward, pushing away the blankets as he goes, left thigh protesting at the moves, before settling in between Magnus spreaded legs.

His lets his hands travel up and down Magnus’ thighs, eyes locked together, drinking the way Magnus’ breath hitches when Alec gets higher and higher each time, until he reaches the hem of his boxers.

“Now you’re just mean,” Magnus comments before biting his lip, making it all plump and shiny.

Alec forces his hands to stay still. It’s the hardest thing he ever did, but Magnus’ frustrated expression is worth it. Magnus pops his hips up, inviting and _right there_ , right under Alec’s bruised hands and is he crazy? Is he really denying Magnus anything just to tease him? He really is a lunatic.

Only this -small, innocent touches- and Alec is feeling out of control, pain, need and pleasure mixing dangerously in his blood, threatening to burn everything. He lowers himself down, the move somehow painful with his aching muscles, lips kissing the exposed skin below the soft fabric of the boxers, fingers hooking at the waistband and tugs it sharply down all the way to Magnus’ knees. Magnus’ cock is freed and stands proudly, less than a handspan from Alec’s mouth...

He smirks against Magnus’ skin, at the moan he lets out and licks his way to the v of Magnus’ lower abdomen, up his defined abs and hard nipples, to his throat and that magnificent adam’s apple, biting a little at the skin there, to finally kiss him, wet and messy. Under him, Magnus is quivering like a feather in a storm, breathless and impatient.

“You were- _ah_ , saying?” Alec asks between nips of his teeth on Magnus’ bottom lip.

Magnus shakes his head and twists around, pushing Alec off him so he can get rid of his boxers himself with a determined look on his face before glaring at Alec and, his eyes flicking down for a second, to his own underwear.

“This goes now,” he growls, hunger plain on his face.

Alec discards the offending garment from his body and Magnus plasters himself on him, grabbing at his shoulder and-

“Aah!” Alec shouts, pain zipping through him lighting fast, falling hard against the ground and his arm twisted by Verlac, his sickeningly smug face right there...

“Alec, I’m so sorry,” Magnus is apologizing immediately, _in their bed and away from Verlac,_ hands hovering mid air like _his touch_ is the problem.

Alec shakes the feeling of Verlac’s grip on him, grounding himself in the present with Magnus and works through the pain. “No, it’s-” _oh god, it hurts_ , “nothing. Told ya, just a bruise.”

“The way you’re wincing is telling me otherwise Alexander.”

And oh, how bittersweet his name sound in Magnus’ mouth right now, like Alec just threw a bucket of icy water at his face.

“I’m telling you, Magnus, I’m fine,” Alec assures, schooling down his features and flashing Magnus a grin.

“That’s what you kept telling me!” Magnus shouts.

Alec recoils like he’s been hit, mind racing back to missions where he lied through his teeth, where he was definitely and obviously _not fine_ and Magnus could do nothing but sit in front of his screens, worrying. Shit, why did he...

“Magnus, I’m-”

“I thought we were past this… you hurting isn’t acceptable for me, Alexander!”

There is no place to argue or lie back in his tone, the concern so thick Alec could chew on it all day. He doesn’t know what to say to defuse the situation, it’s just a few painful bruises and he can take it but-

The wristbands alarm sound loud in the silence between them, each on a side of the bed with a desert of sheets in the middle. Magnus shakes his head in disbelief and Alec can’t find the words, excuses turning to ashes before they even reach his lips. Magnus puts his earpiece on and gets off the bed, stiff as corpse.

“Go to the hospital, have yourself _checked_ ,” he says coldly, before leaving the bedroom without a backward glance and slamming the bathroom’s door shut behind him.

Alec stays immobile for a minute, until he can't ignore his own alarm and his wristband tighten painfully in warning.

_Shit._

He dresses like an automat, putting some running pants and a hoodie on because they’re easy to shrug off and put back even with the way his body is screaming. The shower starts, and Alec closes his eyes, trying to centers himself around the feeling of peace he had in Magnus’ arms last night in the bathtube.

 _Have yourself checked_ , Magnus said. Alec wished it was that easy, to get checked and have everything wrong with him identified and removed. To be whole. Alec hadn’t realized the drive to lie, to say ‘I’m fine’ when he wasn’t, was still there and running inside him.

He crosses the suite limping, and closes the front door quietly, destination clear in mind.

If only unfucking his life was that easy.

 

*****

**THEN**

Everything smelled like antiseptic and death, not Alec favorite combination (he doubted anyone like it). The dissonant _beep beep_ of several machines were grating at his hears, the resulting cacophony pounding deep in his head.

 _Hospitals_ _aren’t the best place on earth,_ he thought wryly, _especially to wake up in._

Guh, he hated hospitals so much. When Izzy had broken her arm last year, he ended up walking between the entrance and the waiting area of the Academy infirmary ward during the entire operation, not in stress, but in absolute uncomfort due to the smell and the overall ambiance. Jace had made fun of him so much for it… “How are you going to be a field agent if you can’t stand hospitals?” he kept saying, playing around with his phone (and probably live texting the entire day to Max, who was at home) like he wasn’t bothered at all by the entire building smelling like death. Although, Alec was pretty sure no one died in there. 98% sure.

So, after an eternity gathering his meager forces, he blinked away the crustiness in his eyes, feeling woozy, numb and _so. damn. cold_. His throat was aching something fierce, tongue leather dry and he didn’t try to call for anyone, blindly searching for the call button every hospital bed had.

That’s when he dumbly realized that his right arm was broken and put in a cast while the other was in a splint, the kind that forces you to stay still. Nausea hit him quickly, bile rising in his mouth, _god_ , what the hell had happened to him? He couldn’t see his legs under the- _couldn’t feel his legs!_

A cheerful “Alec!” came from the door, and he turned his head so fast he felt sick anew.

What the hell was he seeing though? Because Izzy wasn’t... _right_ … Jesus, what kind of painkiller they had him under?

Izzy and Jace entered room, looking ten kind of relieved at seeing him and… more. Alec couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong with his siblings. Not even wrong, but different. She was carrying a huge flower bouquet and a… Toy Story plushie? the cow-boy, what was his name again? while Jace had his hands in his pockets in the fakest nonchalant act known to spykind, purple bags under his eyes betraying poor sleep and worry.

“God, look at him, he looks so dopey when he’s high,” Jace joked timidly, pushing a chair around so he could sit next to Alec, while Izzy was dumping old flowers in a bin before arranging the new ones in the vase.

 _I’ve been here a while then_ , he thought.

Alec watched his sister curiously, incapable of explaining the way she was, like… like she had changed her entire wardrobe. Her hair. Her… her everything. And decided to wear socks in her bra again, like when she was twelve.

“This one goes for the books. I’ll shove it in your face the next time you decide to do something stupid,” Jace said, snapping a picture of Alec. He didn’t sound amused at all and Alec got the impression that his brother was more likely to punch him in the face than to show him a picture shall the occasion arise.

 _Jace has a beard_ , Alec noted. Which was impossible because the younger boy couldn’t grow more than an ugly mustache. In fact, he wasn’t really looking like a boy at all. _Fucking meds_.

“Okay but this time it wasn’t really his fault,” Izzy said tiredly, sitting on a second chair.

“After Prague he was due for a long vacation,” Jace retorted like Alec wasn’t in the room. “Ergo, his fault.”

“Mum’s fault,” Izzy corrected, a venom in her voice that Alec had never heard before.

_What about Prague?_

Jace nodded, a thunderous expression on his face. “You think he’ll remember when he wakes up for good? He looks so spooked.”

“Dr. Aldertree said it was normal the first few times,” Izzy said reassuringly and the confidence in her voice soothed some of Alec’s worries, even if his head was swinging now, from the painkillers and the weird appearances and conversations of his siblings. He let himself fall asleep. It might make more sense after a nap.

  
  


“You cheated!” Jace roared suddenly, so loud it woke Alec right up.

“Not my fault that you can’t count the cards,” another man said -Alec didn’t know that voice.

With extreme difficulty he managed to open his eyes, blinking against the harsh light of the room. A still bearded Jace was playing cards with a guy, light brown skin and broad jaw, dressed in an all black suit and a grand air of contempt on his face.

“I know how to count cards, Raf, you just added a few more to the deck!”

The other guy smiled coldly to Jace and shrugged the accusation off before getting his phone out. “Need to go, Q nearly vaporized the building during his nap and Iz needs help to clean the mess… Ese viejo tonto nos matará un día.”

He got up and glanced at Alec, stopping when he realized he was awake.

“Uh,” he said, smiling a little and getting closer to push a button, “it seems that Woody is finally up.” He sounded happy about it but Alec couldn't place the man. One of the teachers perhaps? No, Jace was treating him like a friend, so it must be a student, someone in Jace’s and Isabelle’s year.

Jace looked at him then, giving him a broad smile, “Hey buddy, you think you can talk today? He’s been in and out for a few days now,” he added to ‘Raf’.

Alec tried to speak, but his throat was just too sore and even if he could, his head was so confused he probably wouldn't have been able to speak properly. And his legs… he could feel the right one -as sore as it was- but the left one... it was just a dead end, a void. And that scared Alec shitless, the _beep beep_ of his heart monitor picking a faster pace.

Jace seemed to understand why Alec was so agitated and, patting Alec good shoulder, said “Yeah, your leg is pretty messed up but… don’t worry okay. They’re working on it, it’s going to be alright.”

Alec wanted to ask for more, to know what happened to him but he couldn’t talk, and he coughed, throat working wrong. He must have been intubated a long, _long_ while.

“Perhaps water might help with that, but I really need to go,” the guy said, before adding, voice a few octaves lower, “take care Lightwood, or I’ll eviscerate you if you make him cry again.”

Oddly, Alec nodded. He didn’t exactly know why he was getting threatened (or by who) but it seemed heartfelt.

“Raf, as much as I like you, you don’t kill Alec,” Jace said to the other guy in an overly friendly tone.

“If he continues to be an absolute arse to Magnus, I will,” the guy retorted, adjusting his jacket and departing from the room without saying goodbye.

When Alec turned his painful head back to Jace, his brother shrugged, “he’s got a point you know.”

A few seconds later, a nurse came in and checked his vitals. Alec fell asleep mid examen.

  
  


His mum was here.

It was his first conscious thought, her perfume heavy in the air, oppressive and bringing forth every disappointed look, every barbed comment, everything he ever did wrong in his mind.

Funny how brains worked sometimes.

He opened his eyes and sure enough, Maryse Lightwood was there. She was not sitting on a chair (Izzy and Jace were occupying the only two in the room) but standing by the window, looking out with a bored expression on her face. She was clutching her phone like a lifeline, probably expecting a call that would save her from being a mother for five minutes.

“Mum?” he called, finally finding his voice. He didn’t know how long he had tried, or how much time had passed since he first woke up. It hurted like hell to utter that one word, in more ways than one.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him, Izzy and Jace with open joy, their mum with a proper frown.

“So you finally wake up. And not too soon…” Maryse told him, right before texting someone. Perhaps his dad? Alec didn’t remember seeing Robert here. Must have been asleep when he stopped by.

_Or he didn’t bother coming._

“Alec, it’s good to hear you, buddy.” Jace said, placing himself between Alec and their mum, shielding him. “You scared us shitless.” He was crying and that meant Alec was about to cry to.

Izzy sitted herself, careful, on the edge of his bed. “You’ve been in and out for a while, I don’t know if you remember.”

Alec nodded slowly, “Jace and, uh -Raf? And you brought me flowers.”

“Luke send the flowers actually -you know how the old man gets... but yeah. I’m gonna go fetch Dr. Aldertree and tell him you're wake,” Izzy explained with a smile. “And a pair of scissors, because that mop of hair is making me ashamed of sharing a family name with your unkept arse.”

Before she could so much as get up, Maryse stopped her.

“A moment Isabelle,” she ordered, “the good doctor doesn’t have the clearance level for what I have to ask your brother.” She skirted around Jace and set herself at the foot of the bed, looking as caring as a carceral officer in death row. “I need your full report on what happened -some of the foreign agents escaped 003 after she and 007 found you, so you have to tell us everything you can remember on your-”

“Mum! don’t brusque him, Dr. Aldertree was clear on that. All those surgeries aren’t good for the mind and after what he went through, you have to let him breath,” Izzy protested immediately.

“I asked a simple question Isabelle.” Maryse said has she rolled her eyes.

“About his mission! Your son is in front of you, waking up properly for the first time in _months_ and the only thing you give a shit about is his report? We nearly lost him Mum!”

 _Mum_. It sounded like an insult -a common one at that. Alec felt faint and he didn’t think it was because of the state his body was in. What the bloody hell happened while he was in the coma, to tear his family apart like this? They never had been this… openly hostile before.

“We nearly lose him any other month,” Maryse muttered dismissively.

“Wh-” his voice, still frail, failed him. “What mission?” he asked after taking a deep breath. What were they all talking about?

“Seoul,” his mum snapped.

“But I’m…” god, why was everything so _confusing_. Raf, Luke -people he didn’t know. Talks of Prague and now Seoul… nothing made sense since he woke up.

“Wait for that little bastard down at the Handlers’ floor…” his mum spoke without letting him time to think about what he wanted to ask first, “M might protect him right now, but he’ll pay for botching up that assignment.”

“Okay, first, Magnus didn’t botch anything. Second, he’s not responsible for Alec’s getting-” Izzy stops dead in the middle of her rant, glancing guiltily at Alec. “Magnus _saved_ Alec.”

“Wonder why,” Maryse said derisively. “That Liberace wannabe has been hounding after your brother for years…”

“You’re so out of line,” Jace began flatly, before continuing, louder, _angrier_ “just because you can’t get your homophobic ass over Alec’s sexuallity doesn’t give you the right to spit on Magnus, especially when he’s the only reason Alec didn’t come home in an Union Jack draped box a hundred time over _because of you!_ ”

That stopped Alec’s heart. He felt it stumble in his chest, heard it on the monitor, beat all over the place, the room dissolving in front of his eyes and just the echo of his heartbeat getting louder and louder still. _Jace just…_ His breathing turned crazy, following his heart, the premise of a panic attack. _How could Jace, oh my god, oh my god, she knows, she_ knows _that I’m_ … the word got stuck in his brain, painful and shredding everything around it.

“Alec, calm down please,” Izzy sounded distant, a light year away, “what’s happening to you?”

“Good God, not awake for five minutes and he’s already losing it,” Maryse said, words lashing at Alec’s mind with brute force. Or was that him? Did he think that? Did she put the words in his head after years of thinking them so loudly around him?

“Okay, fuck off. _NOW!_ ” Izzy shouted, but Alec was in too deep, chest heaving and hurting, so much pain and not enough air…

 _Whywhywhywhywhy_...

He didn’t know long it took him to calm down but he doubted he would have manage if someone -Jace? He couldn't be sure- hadn’t gave him a bag to breath in.

“Okay, what the hell was that about?” Jace asked, looking wrecked. “You haven’t reacted to mum being a bitch like this in _years._ ”

“You told her!” Alec barked, too raw and feeling like he might slip again.

Jace looked confused. “Told her what?”

“About me… being…” he didn’t- couldn’t say it out loud.

“Gay?” now Jace was puzzled, head cocked to the side while Izzy was looking at him like he grew a second head. “Uh, the cat’s been outta the bag for a while now, buddy,” Jace said carefully.

Jace’s affirmation left Alec speechless and more confusion followed, to the point that Izzy went out to fetch the doctor.

“Alec, what’s the last thing you remember?” the doctor asked after listening to them, his smooth tone putting Alec’s on edge rather than calming him.

No, he just felt more uncomfortable to be under so much scrutiny. This wasn’t _normal._ He still racked his brain for the last thing he did before… whatever happened to him and his damn leg.

“Izzy forcing me into a costume for Halloween…” he answered tentatively, “Star something. Going to the party in the Hall B…”

“Hall B?” the doctor prompted.

“That’s in the Academy. I had to fight like a lion to have the rector accept to throw the party -Alec that was seven years ago!” Izzy cut in, shocked.

The doctor frowned minutely and noted something on his notepad before saying “Exams didn’t show any damage on the brain after the- the incident,” he stumbled on the word, like he wanted to use something else. Something worse. Something true and horrifying. “Psychogenic amnesia isn’t uncommon after a huge physical and emotional trauma. The patients revert back to a safer headspace to preserve their psyche.”

Alec felt like fainting. Throwing up. Shouting. Panicking. _All. At. Once._

That wasn’t possible… he heard wrong. He couldn’t have lost seven years of his life… no no no, _they_ were wrong. He was seventeen, he was in his last years of training at the Academy and preparing for -Jace had a beard. Izzy was a _woman_ , not a girl. People he didn’t know cared for him enough to send flowers or come see him…

How were you supposed to get that all back?

  
  
  


“Is Magnus my boyfriend?” Alec asked once the doctor left and a nurse brought some hospital curated food for him.

He didn’t want to eat -especially not the shapeless _thing_ in the plate in front of him- but still opened his mouth when Isabelle presented him with a spoonful, her puppy eyes working full force despite the fact that she was apparently twenty-three.

All this was so foreign and the food was disgusting, which wasn’t helping.

He wasn’t seventeen, but nearly twenty-five. Izzy snapped a picture of him and shown it to him when the doctor wasn’t watching… he looked like hell -old hell- with too thick facial hair and hollowed cheeks. Jace tried to reassure him that he was a ‘fine piece of arse’ but Alec had some difficulties trusting him.

He wasn’t a student in the Academy anymore but a MI6 field agent. A bloody double-o, his goal -no, _his parents’ goal_ since he was born. Jace was one too, and Alec frowned at that. His brother had always wanted to be a pilot and went to the Academy to pacify Maryse and Robert more than anything. That had been the deal, once he graduated, he would join the royal Air Force. But apparently not. Izzy was Q dep, which wasn’t a surprise with the brain she had.

Somehow, he wasn’t in the closet.

The last one was a bit hard to swallow. He expected that he would remain there _ad vitam eternam_ and would learn to accept it but apparently, other-him (older-him?) got brave and bloody came out.

Unconceivable.

And yet.

He came out, to his mum’s outraged face (Izzy’s words) and he even manage to find himself a - _even thinking the word felt weird_ \- boyfriend?

“It’s, uh, complicated,” Izzy said without looking at him, but glancing at Jace who was outright wincing.

“You’re kinda not in the right headspace for a relationship… and he’s- well… absolutely in love with you despite all your less than stellar behavior,” his brother said in a rush.

“Jace!” Izzy shouted.

“What, are you daft? Dr. Climbyoulikeatree said he probably won’t remember not remembering when he finally, uh, remembers… give me another opportunity to deal with this dirty laundry without Alec leaving the room or shipping his mute arse over the next crisis to please mum?” Jace said, anger rising again in his voice, and pointing a sharp finger to Alec’s while he was looking at Izzy.

Isabelle looked conflicted… for about two seconds.

“Magnus can never know,” she warned.

“I’m blonde, not stupid.”

“But what if I don’t-” Alec tried to cut in, not that happy about being trapped with his angry siblings and shouted at for things he didn’t remember.

Izzy shushed him, “You asked who Magnus was. He’s your handler of two years but you pretend you don’t care. You don’t talk to him-”

“They talk on the comms, Ragnor told me when he was handling me,” Jace corrected her.

“I was going to say that!” she rolled her eyes. “You run away when you see him.”

“That’s true, you shoved me in an emergency staircase along with you to avoid him that one time. _You fell down_. It was pretty pathetic and then you ignored me for a week, pretending that your ankle wasn’t strained because you couldn’t handle small talk with your crush,” Jace said ruthlessly.

“You love him like mad,” Izzy added, her voice soft, like she was announcing something sad.

“Then why…” Alec frowned. His siblings seemed pretty sure he was absolutely taken with this Magnus guy and he trusted their judgements. “If we both w-” his voice cracked, either from fatigue or embarrassment, “want it, why aren’t we, you know…”

“Dating?” Isabelle said helpfully, as she presented him with a new spoonful.

“Yeah. It’s stupid.” He opened his mouth again and shallow as soon as he could. Thankfully Izzy gave him some water to wash the taste down.

“Well I’ll be damned. Please tell me you had the foresight of recording that, I want to play it back to him when he’s a grouchy old man again,” Jace said a little meanly.

Izzy shook her head but took out her phone, a model so slim, so _futuristic_ (to him) that Alec couldn’t stop staring. Seven years. Lost.

“Here, have a look,” Izzy said after scrolling down for a minute. She put the phone on his lap.

Alec stared, quiet as a mouse, at the picture displayed.

“I think I need to go fetch some candles, he looks like he’s having a bloody religious experience,” Jace muttered.

God that man was beautiful. Painfully so. _If I had my memories_ , _I’d love him_ , Alec thought. The man had a drink in his manicured hand, looking away from the camera but Izzy had caught him smiling at that Rafa bloke. Dressed to the nine, hair crafted like a top model’s, his posture impeccable, he looked like a dream and absolutely not like a guy that would give Alec the time of the day.

“Can I see him?” he asked, feeling rather foolish.

None of his siblings answered and he reluctantly looked away from the phone - _from Magnus_ \- to see what was that about.Jace was looking at his hands, pinched expression on his face and Izzy winced when their eyes met.

“He’s not… he doesn’t come at the hospital,” she explained slowly. “When you get hurt, _which is fairly often_ , he sends his regards and that’s it.”

Alec didn’t understand, weren't they friend? If not more?

“I told you, you avoid him like the black plague… I think it’s his way of respecting your fucked up boundaries,” Jace said, disapproving.

“Anyway, M shipped him to the Academy while you’re here to recover… by the way, you’re going under soon, they finished whatever prep they needed for your leg surgery. They say it’s going to be good as new!” she announced with cheers, trying hard to change the subject.

Alec looked down at Izzy’s phone on his lap, but the screen was black now and the picture long gone. He nodded and accepted a new spoonful of food. Nothing stopped him to see this Magnus after the surgery anyway.

  
  


Alec woke up feeling numb, he kind of numbness that comes with too much painkillers. The air smelled like disinfectant and stale death, Alec’s all time favorite.

He groaned.

“Wakey wakey, snow white,” Jace said close to his ear. “You stopped snoring five minutes ago, so I know you’re awake.”

Alec groaned again. He didn’t feel like waking up or face whatever reason he was laying in an hospital bed.

Again. He knew what he signed up for, but bloody fuck, he was getting old for all this.

“I told you at least a thousand time, you look dumb with a beard,” he said to Jace when he opened his eyes.

Jace looked at him in mock outrage, “I’ll have you know the ladies are really fond of it.”

“Grandma doesn’t count.”

“Ouch, you wound me…” Jace staggered back, holding his chest like it hurted. “At least there are some pretty sexy nurses here and I am-”

At that moment, Isabelle entered the room, holding a laptop and what looked like new flowers. _Uh, I must have been in here for a while_ , Alec thought as she smiled at him blindingly before changing the flowers and dumping the old ones in the bin.

“Hey you!” she said.“Those are from Magnus by the way.”

Alec shifted, uncomfortable. Magnus _never_ sent flowers before.

“You okay, you look consti-” Jace asked before stopping and checking his ringing phone. He smiled, heart-eyes and all and quickly waved at them with a “I need to take this” gesture before leaving the room.

“You do look bad. Are you in pain? I’ll call the nurse.”

“No no,” Alec said, “If anything I just feel nauseous with all the painkillers.”

Something had crashed in him… a truck. Or a baseball bat.

“That was a close one,” he muttered, angry at himself… he should have know it was a setup, should have guessed and be more careful.

“What do you mean? I just got here, did the doctors say something about your leg?” she asked, blanching.

Alec frowned. “My leg?” he looked down, his left leg was encased in a weird honeycombed cast, that let see red, abused skin, a massive knot of scars and perfect stitches on his thigh. Cuts and butchered flesh replaced what he was seeing for a second, his breath itching as phantom pain coursed through him. “No,” he said to Izzy. “I mean Seoul. I wasn’t vigilant enough.”

Izzy stared at him like he said something particularly shocking.

“You… you remember?”

“Uh, not everything… they drugged me I think. But yeah, enough.”

“Alec, how many time did you wake up?”

That gave Alec pause. “I woke up before now?”

“How old are you?” she asked urgently.

“Did my birthday passed or something? If not, I’m nearly twenty-five,” he told her, weirded out by her reaction. “Okay why the _look_?”

“Before the leg surgery you had psychogenic amnesia… you though we were still students.”

“I don’t remember,” Alec said, tired. He probably made a fool of himself. Scratch that, he was certain. “Pretty sure it’s better that way.”

Isabelle glanced to her side, where the flowers Magnus had sent were standing in the vase, beautiful red and white chrysanthemums. “You said some pretty insightful things,” she hinted.

“I’m sure”, he snorted

“You asked why you weren’t closer to Magnus.”

That chilled Alec to the bones. “I don’t want to hear it, Iz.”

“You wanted to see him,” she persisted.

“He’s my handler, that’s it,” he lied, cold anger making his voice sharper that he liked.

“You keep telling that,” Izzy muttered, “like I don’t know _you_.”

“If you know me so well, then you should know that I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Where are you going to go, uh? Crowl in the corridor to avoid this conversation?” she set her hands on her hips, daring him.

Alec just reached with his free hand and pushed the call button on the side of his bed.

“You want this to put me out of the program, don’t you?” he accused, pointing at his left leg. He  needed her gone, gone, gone. It was hard to ignore the twisting of hope in his belly that he actually could be done for because of his leg. Who would he be thought, without his job? People like him ended up dead in a bottle or in syringe when they didn’t die on the job. It’s not like he could be anything else than a killing machine. They just pretended he could be.

Izzy tensed, looking _hurt_. “That’s unfair.”

Alec looked away. He had always been excellent at hurting the people that loved him because of his weaknesses.

The second a nurse came in to see what he needed, he asked her to see Isabelle out.

He was left alone after that, his siblings not coming back and his parents not visiting (he was told that his mother came once, and was happy she didn’t came back). Doctors and nurses came in and out to check his leg and the rest but they were even less interested in small talk than he was.

So it was him and the dying bouquet of flowers from Magnus in a lonely hospital room for a while, before the _intensive_ physiotherapy started.

 

*****

**NOW**

Magnus can't help but drift back to what happened this morning... First, his own ruthless impulse to tease about marriage, just a joke really, just the need to see the look of shock on Alec’s face, the contemplation in his eyes as a vision of life unfolded in his mind -hopefully matching Magnus’. And then he saw the Red Thief, _their way out_ , suddenly knowing that they might have the upper hand on the Morgensterns after all and that blissful tumble of need, of joy and hope…

Shattered by Alec’s scream of pain.

Magnus got out of the shower exhausted, his sleepless night finally catching up with him. He half expected to find Alexander where he left him on the bed, but the bedroom was empty and the sheets were cold.

He stripped the bed mechanically, nose a bit self conscious about the _sexsweat_ smell that permated it, reevaluating as he went every progress he thought Alexander had made -some he witnessed with his own two eyes- since he retired. The worst was that he did got better, body and soul… just under more gentle circonstances. And this bloody place was all but gentle...

 _Baby steps_ , Magnus thought as he put all the laundry in a neat-ish pile on the armchair before flopping down on the bare mattress. _It’s unfair to ask for more. Inhuman even, after all you went through love…_ Staring listlessly at the ceiling didn’t do shit, though, and Magnus gave himself a good shake before dressing up for the day.

Magnus is still shaking with anger over the lie. It’s not directed at Alec, not entirely at least, but at the entire universe. Intellectually, he knows self harm can't be cured overnight… wishing otherwise won't do a damned thing.

The truth is, Magnus overreacted. Discussing the issue would have been more productive than storming off but Alexander just bypassed every common sense Magnus still had, hitting him at the core, anger and worry mixing into something dangerously volatile, words out of his mouth without his brain to tamper the bite in them… But like hell he's validating Alec's fucked up belief that _he has to endure pain_ , that hurting is his default setting.

He was so bloody mad. Forced back to two whole years of sitting, powerless, as the man he grew to love shrugged off pain and trauma because it was expected of him. Like getting some relief was out of the question.

_Not bloody likely._

And Magnus had hoped that it was gone, that the ugly habit had disappeared after Alec's retirement but he had been wrong. Half a year safe and sound in Luke's cabin hadn’t been enough and the first chance he got, Alexander fell back in his old mind set, lying, _grinning_ at Magnus while doing so, like he was just someone -someone that had to be fooled and couldn't be trusted.

Like a stranger… or a mark.

Magnus will have to talk to him but he would not excuse himself as Alexander was the one that lied and put on a face. It was unclear how long the check up would take though, or if Alec would even be authorized to leave depending on his injuries -bloody him- but Magnus needed the other man by his side. Safe. Unharmed. Ready to have a discussion he wouldn’t like.

There was of course the matter of Alexander actually going to the hospital and not lying again... it wouldn’t be the first time. He used to do it during missions, promising he’ll take a break or see a doctor, calming Magnus’ worries enough for the handler to go nap or eat… and then Magnus would come back, and it would be obvious Woody hadn’t taken care of himself and just popped a couple of painkillers.

Magnus trusted the other man with _his_ life, with _his_ heart, but he knew better than to trust Alexander with his own. That would need time and healing. Time they would only get when this clusterfuck would be over and the Morgenstern men buried for good.

Strangling Maryse Lightwood and anyone that pushed his lover to be so self destructive for _their_ sakes is also an option that Magnus is more than ready to explore and he isn't feeling guilty one bit. Because there will be a reckoning, Magnus would see to it.

But for now, he's being summoned to the Morgenstern mansion at the heart of the compound. He spent the morning hacking into a series of Credit Suisse accounts without a word from Alec or anyone bothering him and suddenly Pangborn entered the lab and told him to put everything on pause because _Mr. Morgenstern_ needed him. As always, more precision wasn't offered and Magnus worries (which is probably why he's kept in the dark) as Pangborn leads him through the security gates and up to the house.

The henchman doesn’t seem too hot about bringing Magnus here, which can’t be good. Shit, perhaps it was too cocky of him to put those few lines of code in the Aqua Comm virus and he has been found out... shit shit shit. He’s plan is silk thin anyway, he shouldn’t have… Even if everything works for them -sos received; MI6 willing to save them; Red Thief tweaked so their chests don't explode when they use it- organizing a rescue mission on Bolivian soil is going to tinsy bit trickier than flying a helicopter from London to Balmoral.

He feels like a shark out of the water, fins and tail cut off, waiting to die on the bridge of a dirty boat or pushed back onto the sea to drown… _Guh. No more animal documentaries when I can't sleep_ , he thinks, _or serial killer specials_. Though honestly after his two kidnappings and the delightful acquaintance of Sebastian Verlac, Magnus could probably watch a hundred of those without flinching now. Talk about building a tolerance.

The mansion is silent but for the hush of servants quietly cleaning around, heads bowing differently as Pangborn and Magnus make their way to the back of the first floor, where Morgenstern keeps his office.

Magnus shivers as he remembers getting lead in there for the first time, after being taken from Luke’s cabin… the eternity trapped in that stale and cold container, sea sick and petrified with fear; the anxiety fueled nightmares; the hours on bumpy roads, waiting, waiting and worrying. Finally (and too soon at the same time) getting shoved out of the vehicle, failing on soft grass and his tired mind thinking of oasis, before someone took off the bag on his head and Magnus’ eyes burned in the sudden light, blinking tears, head swinging with nausea and his breath inexplicably short.

Blinding sun and blue sky were the only thing he could see for a few moments, until a guard forced him to his feet and Magnus found himself in front of a bloody mansion.

Despite the fear and the exhaustion, he had let himself be brought to Morgenstern in shackles with his head stubbornly high, in a lush office that oddly looked like Asmodeus’. Rich men with no sense of style always went for big, imposing furniture, shoving wealth to your eyes every chance they got and Morgenstern didn’t disappoint on that matter.

He had surprised Magnus by barking “I told you to bring him to his room first for a refreshment!” at his men.

The outburst didn’t make sense, until Alec’s steady voice at the back of him mind commented “ _Shifting the blame of discomfort and pain on someone else -posing as a reasonable man, forcing your tired brain to associate him with relief and some modicum of dignity_.” Alec had used that particular technique on marks before -had it used against him more than once too- and dissected it (along many others) for Magnus’ benefit when they were waiting for a terrorist to make a call, a diplomat to meet someone he shouldn’t, or a mark to show up at a ‘date’, killing time the best they could, conversation and banter easy as they were comms and oceans apart.

And sure enough, Morgenstern had crossed his office in big, sure strides and uncuffed Magnus himself, going as far as helping him to a chair and ordering some food for him.

 _The gentleman kidnapper_ , Magnus thinks bitterly. In front of him, Pangborn knocks on the double doors and, after a answer that Magnus doesn’t catch, opens them.

The scene revealed to Magnus robs him of his breath, all worry of him getting caught for his sos code forgotten and replaced by heart-stopping fear at the sights: Alexander hogtied, looking worse than he did when he came back from training last night, nose bloody and face purple, lying unconscious in front of Morgenstern's desk like a dead animal.

"Ah, Mr. Bane. As you can see, we’re having a situation,” Morgenstern says from where he’s standing by the window.

_Shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Another way to die by Alicia Keys & Jack White  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments show appreciation <3
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) and check my spy!Malec tag for info/updates or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ElodieGuillo/)


	4. My running around is through, I fly to you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey look who's updating!
> 
> (There is a part is this chapter heavily isnpired by the trailer from Atomic Blond!)

“Uh, you again,” a doctor says listlessly as he stops in front of Alec. 

Alec recognizes him as one of the silent doctors during his stay here for his concussion.  _ Arsehole _ . He doesn't acknowledge the man beside quickly standing up, ready for this to be over, to be given a clean bill of health so he can go back to Magnus and reassure the man.  _ Not that it will stop him from being angry with me _ , he thinks, before stomping on the upsetting train of thoughts.

He wandered a bit coming here, needing the air and the false calm of the base before being prodded by Morgenstern’s pet doctors and took the opportunity to mentally map out that part of the compound. A huge mistake… if he had realized that there would be a queue, like at a regular ER, he would have hurried as much as his sore body would let him. The waiting room was full of sick and hurt people when he got there; the usual mess of sprained ankles, bloody bandages and an obvious case of diarrhea, but Alec didn’t have an ounce of compassion for them… they were all here of their own volition. He, Magnus and the kids weren’t.

He and the doctor are nearly out of the waiting room when an instructor Alec met yesterday bangs the door as he enters the ER, dragging a crying little girl behind him.

_ Madzie. _ The girl with the knife, the quiet girl that barely reaches Alec’s knee, with her neat braids and pink bows, that knows where to stick a knife to kill people. The  _ child _ , like all the others, that shouldn’t be there at Morgenstern’s mercy.

The instructor sees Alec from across the room and nods politely in acknowledgment before pushing Madzie in a seat, careless as any mean bastard around here. He leaves the room like that, without a backward glance.

God, she’s obviously in shock and hurting and Alec would recognize that dreadful breathing pattern everywhere: she’s having a panic attack, her little chest heaving like mad... No one in the ER moves or pays attention to her beside quick glances and Alec stares at his doctor for a moment, expecting  _ him _ to go immediately to the little girl but the man just sighs and puts his hand on Alec’s shoulder, guiding him away.

Away from a crying five-year-old -a child who needs attention and care- and his bloody oath.

Alec fucking knows how to triage and she’s obviously a priority compared to his few bruises. He shrugs the hand off his shoulder and crosses the room as fast as he can, before kneeling in front of the little girl, at a safe distance so he doesn’t scare her (he didn’t get to look at himself in a mirror this morning, but his face hurts and he knows by experience it must be black and blue; all but engaging to a panicking kid).

“Hey Madzie, you remember me? I’m Alec, we met yesterday,” he says, careful not to raise his voice. No need to startle her.

She doesn’t answer but Alec sees recognition in her tears filled eyes along with fear and the same wrecking look of shame Magnus gave him in that lab six months ago. Alec can’t stand it.  _ What have they filled your little head with for you to react like this? _

“You can’t do that,” the doctor calls.

“And why the hell not?” Alec barks back, regretting it instantly when Madzie flinches. “Sorry,” he says to her, “I’m not angry with you sweetie.”

“We’re under strict order to let the kids learn to deal with that kind of shit themselves,” the doctor explains dismissively. "Can’t have crying babies in the field.”

The edge of the pool is  _ too high _ for him to reach, the water  _ too deep _ and Alec is eight again, surrounded by water, his arms and legs getting numb and fear rising, rising, rising, his lungs constricting, drowning and distantly, his mother’s voice saying, “this is unacceptable Alec, if you can’t keep your head above the water, what good are you?”

Every morning, every night, every time, muttering to himself “you’re a soldier Alec, you were born for this, you have to be strong…” And perhaps, if he performed as needed,  _ if he was good enough _ , his siblings could be spared. They weren’t, of course. But eight year old Alec didn’t know that.

Now Alec is old enough to see with brutal clarity how he was raised, how wrong it was. Or perhaps, it had nothing to do with age and more with deprogramming. He and Madzie are the same in a way -long term investment, raised for combat, their training the sole focus of their lives, since it’s impossible to call it a childhood. He saw it yesterday before Verlac showed up. The instructors (or at least the ones with the younger kids) being nice, careful to indoctrinate with words of praise, uplifting the best recruits and shaming the rest about letting down  _ the cause _ ; before falsely relenting and pushing harder.

Textbook indoctrination techniques, the very ones that Maryse and Robert Lightwood  _ diligently _ used. Textbook Morgenstern too, it seems.

Maryse always complained about how hard it was on her to be the commanding officer of her children, but Alec was sure growing up as her  _ trainee _ had been harder. Admittedly, every achievement was celebrated but setbacks in his and his siblings progresses were instrumentalized against the others and severely punished… Alec used to live for the good days, the way his mum would shine with pride and  _ smile at him _ while dreading and worry sick about his siblings’ difficulties that would only breed more of Isabelle’s hollow looks and Jace’s cold determination.

“Madzie, listen to me darling, you have to hold on, just for a sec okay?” he doesn’t touch her -he knows better, his reaction to physical contact when he’s like this being the opposite of reassured and he rather not take the risk with her. He rises to his feet again, knee protesting, before looking through the room to find a plastic bag he can make her breath in until she’s not about to faint.

“I told you, we-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Alec throws above his shoulder. He presents the bag to Madzie, demonstrating the use and says, voice gentle for her, “it will help okay?”

It’s when she takes the bag in her shaky little hands that Alec sees the deep cut between her right thumb and forefinger, the webbing of skin there red and puffy under flakes of dried blood.

Alec immediately knows what that is -can still  _ feel _ the one he got the first time his father made him fire a Glock without correcting the position of his hands because, “Alec, son, by now you should have known better”. The slide of the gun had deeply bitten in his skin, hurting like hell. 

A scream fights to come up his throat but he pushes it down, for Madzie’s sake. They had the little kids fire guns. Morgenstern put guns in the hands of five-year-olds and  _ made them fire _ .

“We’re going to clean that up,” he says to Madzie, but there is an edge in his voice, something he can’t temper, even for her. The need for a reckoning.

Madzie is dutifully breathing in and out in the bag, breath fogging it. She looks a bit less terrified, her sobbing down to a few hiccups - _ good.  _ Alec gently tries to take the bag away but suddenly she snatches his hand in hers and clenches it like a vice. Alec smiles at her, his hand (gun calloused and bruised knuckles) looks comically huge holding her and he’s overwhelmed by the need to take her in his arms and take her as far away from this place.

A hand grips his shoulder -hard. Alec tenses but his reaction isn’t the same as the one he had in bed with Magnus, anger dampening pain effortlessly. He takes a deep breath, pain is calling for pain. 

Not his, this time.

“You played Mother Teresa long enough,” the so-called doctor says, tightening his hold.

Alec excelled at his job, lived for it. Did it, most of the time, without flinching -a bit too well perhaps. There was nothing humanitarian about it (plus that old hag was no saint). So he gets up, working his hand out of Madzie’s slowly while his body protests at the effort. Madzie gives him a pleading look but he still turns he lets the several inches he has on the doctor, in height and shoulders, speak for themselves. The man’s eyes go round and he takes his hand away at once, backing off. 

“Now calm down,” he pleads, “I’m only following orders.”

Questions form in Alec’s mind, about people justifying kidnappings for the greater good and abuse with a shrug; trying to wiggle out of blame by pointing out the chain of command… The thing is, Alec doesn’t want to hear any of it, so he punches the poor excuse of a man in front of him. Hard. 

Hell breaks loose after that.

 

*****

“What happened to him?” Magnus asks, throwing himself down on the floor to check that Alexander has a pulse,  _ oh my god, oh my god, please have a pulse love, please _ … 

He does. But he doesn't stir when Magnus gently puts his head on his lap or calls his name. There’s enough rope hogtying him to throw a lasso or two at the moon and the  _ mise en scène _ appears (in a corner of Magnus’ brain that is well past panicking) so showy that Morgenstern turns into one of those old James Bond villains. The bastard is just missing a cat. Which makes Magnus,  _ de facto _ , a bond girl.

_ Oh my God, I’m Natalya Simonova _ , Magnus realizes bitterly,  _ and I  _ hate _ Goldeneye!  _

The rest of his tired brain can’t feel anything beyond anger and relief.  _ They want me to feel scared for him… as if I’m not already _ . He lowers his head to Alec’s ear and whispers “I love you, danger magnet” to him.

“He made some trouble over nothing,” Morgenstern says dismissively. “You were lucky they only sedated him -Blackwell was partial to putting him down, but Alec didn’t use lethal force during his little tantrum... However he did put some of my med crew and security in the hospital. Go figure, they could actually learn something from him.”

“But  _ why _ ?”

Alexander wouldn’t have attacked Morgenstern’s men without reason, even as unhinged as he might have been after last night and that argument this morning (Magnus refuses to call it a fight).

“Education, of all things,” Morgenstern evades. “I must say, he disappointed me. Maryse must have mellowed with the years, for him to be so soft... too soft -almost useless. And yet I found myself somewhat fond of the man.” He chuckles, taking a sip of the drink in his hand.

Magnus remembers distantly what it was like to be  _ fond _ of his double-o, before completely falling in love with him. He doubts what Morgenstern claims to feel is actually close to fondness, or his definition is drastically different from Magnus’. 

“He could have been mine,” Morgenstern continues, unprompted, finally stepping away from the window and comes sit on a leather chair -not behind his desk, but right next to Magnus and Alexander. He towers over them like some lord, leg crossed at the ankle, making Magnus uncomfortable. “He’s not, I checked.”

Magnus stares at Morgenstern, at the implication. The almost regret on the man’s face and, deep inside himself, the relief that Alexander will not have to deal with that kind of revelation. He stays silent, though, accustomed to Morgenstern’s talking moods by now. 

“Maryse and I were sent to Beirut together… our cover was a couple and we were under heavy surveillance… M -the one from my time- used to call it  _ sacrifice _ but he wasn’t the one cheating on his wife or his husband. One more reason to fucking hate those bloody bastards,” Morgenstern preaches and Magnus has to control an eyeroll. “And nine neat months later...”  Morgenstern gestures at Alexander’s prone form on the floor. “DNA test said no, and I was glad -at first. Sebastian, as you experienced, is a bit of a handful. Perhaps soft would have been better…” he trails off, almost wishful and probably thinking of a certain red head girl that ( _ thank God _ ) he didn’t get to raise.

Magnus is seething. “Despite this so called fondness, you tortured him in Seoul,” he spats.

Morgenstern raises an eyebrow, like he didn’t expect Magnus to know that, or the venom in his tone.

“How do you- ah. Camille. Couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she?” he said, amused. “And I merely tested him. That nasty business with his leg is on Sebastian, I’m afraid.”

_ Like that makes a fucking difference _ , Magnus wants to shout. He doesn’t; picking his battles is an ongoing effort against his heart but right now, with Alec’s a breath away from being executed, it’s easy to shut up. Still, his fingers must have tighten in Alexander’s hair, making the unconscious man groan softly so Magnus forces his hand to be gentler.

“He doesn’t know?” Morgenstern asks, pointing at Alec with his chin.

Magnus shakes his head. “That wouldn’t be very productive.” He hates himself for this, for agreeing to keep something from Alexander, but there is no telling how he might break at the news. 

“No indeed, it would not.” He chuckles. “Seeing how he reacted to something as minor as what happened at the hospital… no. But speaking of Sebastian, I need you to check his laptop,” Morgenstern says, nonchalantly designating the desk.

“What for?” Magnus asks. He turns his head until he can see a white laptop, open and softly humming on the massive desk.

“My son is a secretive shit that thinks I’m blind to his little side games,” Morgenstern explains, derisive amusement in his voice. “I’ve allowed this misconception for a time, but I feel like I need to tighten his leash. Unfortunately, he had his laptop encrypted and my usual backdoor has been locked.  _ I don’t like it. _ ”

Magnus isn't sure if it's a test or if Morgenstern is genuinely looking for something. Perhaps he planted his son's laptop with something to see if Magnus could/would find it. Perhaps he wants to test Magnus’ snooping skills when the opportunity is apparently offered. And perhaps, just perhaps, the former 006 is less in control of his son than he likes to pretend and is actually concerned.

Magnus refrains, hard, not to roll his eyes.  _ To hear thunder is no sign of a quick ear, _ Sun Tzu said. Any drunk bloke lost in his pint would have caught up on Verlac’s animosity for his father and obviously, Morgenstern thought that being aware of his son having secrets was enough and the same as being  _ ready _ .

"He has a tablet, hasn’t he?" Magnus asks, remembering that awful dinner the other night and deciding to be as helpful as possible, especially with Alexander unconscious on his lap, "and at least one smartphone. Those should be checked as well."

Morgenstern makes a face, the kind that says “ _ I don’t want my son to know I’m onto him until I know his cards _ .”

“That might have to wait. Sebastian isn’t here at the moment,” he says.

“Well don’t expect too much then,” Magnus shrugs, before forcing himself to add, “I can install a trojan horse on his laptop. The second he connects his phone on it, it’ll get infected and you will be able to access it remotely… sensitive data is usually carried on one’s own person because of the illusion of security; most people make the mistake.”

Morgenstern looks at Magnus, like he’s evaluating him. Whatever he sees makes him extract something from his breast pocket and Magnus tenses involuntary, expecting a weapon of some sort.

Oddly enough, Morgenstern presents him with a old leather wallet. The thing is battered like nothing Magnus had ever seen before. Reluctantly, he abandons Alexander’s hair and takes the thing with genuine interest, turning it over, mindful of the cracked spine. 

The initials VM are embossed in the leather and Magnus only open the wallet after the owner gestures for him ‘go on’.

_ God that thing is old _ . Faded underground tickets are neatly kept along a phone card, the kind people used back in the days before the glorious days of smartphones. There is also an arcade token, the gold paint cracked and illisible now. In the photo space, Jocelyn Fairchild-Garroway -Jocelyn  _ Morgenstern _ then- looks impossibly young, a billowing sundressed tended by a round belly. Morgenstern is at her side, kissing her cheek with great affection.

_ Clary looks a lot like her _ , Magnus thinks, mind going to the petite woman and her blinding smile that he met once at Izzy’s flat back in London. Her mother and Luke seemed to have protected her from their duties to MI6 as much as they could, but she wasn’t in the dark either about her mum’s past as an agent or Luke’s current statu as England top spy. If she knew who her biological father was, she didn’t let it on and Magnus hadn’t wished to discuss the man that had kidnapped him over wine and Izzy’s nasty cooking skills.

“That was before MI6 burned me,” Morgenstern says. “All sensitive data isn’t made of 0s and 1s Magnus, some are made out of flesh and blood.” He takes his wallet back, glancing at the picture with longing before putting it back in place. “Now, to work,” he orders, casual persona back and sealed tight on his face.

Magnus nods -it’s not like he has a choice anyway. So, as gentle as he can, he puts Alexander’s head back on the floor and gets up, dusting his knees.

“He’s unconscious, those ropes aren’t necessary,” he pleads.

Morgenstern has the audacity to roll his eyes and Magnus is immediately reminded of his father. Standing helpless in a bloody office so alike Asmodeus’ and at the mercy of this arsehole isn’t helping.

“Sure.” Morgenstern’s sighs. “Pangborn! Come here untie Mr. Lightwood and put him on the couch, the floor isn’t for guests.”

The minion comes in at once, looking resolutely on the ground as he helps Magnus get Alexander out of the ropes, but Magnus carries Alexander to the nearest couch by himself, picking him off the floor carefully. The couch is nearly as long as Alec and, once he’s settled, Magnus puts a fluffy pillow under his head and kiss his forehead.

When he turns back to Morgenstern, the man is looking more impatient than ever and Magnus nods, crossing the room and sits in front of the laptop. Even without Alexander’s life so clearly hanging in the balance, Magnus would have been glad to hit Verlac however he could.

 

*****

**THEN**

Above him the sky was heavy with dark clouds that promised cold rain like always, just another thing to hate about the Academy (with the dreadful food, sharing a dorm room with three idiots and, oh yes, the fact he wasn’t here of his own free will). This place sucked the life out of everything but Magnus had enough experience to go through it without so much as a shudder now.

With a few exceptions.

He made his way to the training field, head held high and rocking his sunglasses like Lilith taught him, walking slowly to give everyone there the time to appreciate how good he looked in his running shorts, how  _ above _ them he was. None of them deserve any less after what happened last night.

“ _ Bane _ , how nice of you to join us,” instructor Dieudonné snarled when he spotted him.

“I thought so myself,” Magnus couldn’t stop himself from answering with a cheeky grin. Not exactly what M had ordered him to do when facing criticism but Magnus was  _ so over _ her and her dictatorship. She could force him -to learn and, later, to work- but she didn’t scare him as much as she had when he was younger. Threats of prison and public exposure as a murderer had been enough to make him obedient back then... but too much time bending over backwards to please her had the opposite effect. Now her reminders of the punishment he avoided were just tiresome. So he did what he always wanted:  _ fight back _ .

He shrugged his ugly duffel bag off, letting it drop to the ground. “Carry on,” he said to the instructor and the sweaty teenagers that had stopped in their hand to hand combat training to stare at him. He was, after all, magnificent.

But the lip owned him a vicious glare from Dieudonné. “Five miles Bane -for lateness. And you earned your spot as this session’s  _ dummy _ ,” the man announced meanly.

A few snickers raised from the trainees and Magnus flicked them the v, mouthing a  _ sod off _ for good measure before taking his sunglasses down, ignoring the gasps of surprise at the black eye he had been concealing -not from shame, but for effect.

“Try not to stare at my arse too hard,” he winked at some particularly homophobic classmates and began to run around the training ground.

Said bigots had caught Magnus making out with another guy the night before and that had not ended well for either of them. Magnus earned a black eye, Imasu a sprained ankle from trying to run and the rest, well... Magnus didn’t have many friends here so when he wasn’t studying, he spent his time in the dorm gym. His efforts had paid off last summer, finally putting on serious muscles (incidentally, it was that had attracted Imasu in the first place). So when Magnus had punched, it had been hard and it had _hurt_. Some of the little bigots were still in the infirmary ward but it wasn’t enough. 

Magnus hadn’d been late for mandatory training because he was lazy, ashamed or tired. He had spent the night hacking in every. single. one of his attackers’ Academy cloud accounts and erased their homework as well as every file he could get his digital hands on. That would teach them.

No one laid a hand on him or called him names without consequences; he owned himself that much. What he had endured with Asmodeus would never happen again. Magnus couldn't wait to see their faces later in the day when they realized that their assignments had not been turned in and that they would fail several classes.  _ So sad. _ It wasn’t exactly his fault if could hack into the school's records, was it? They had, after all, taught him a good quarter of the things he knew.

During his second lap around the training field, he caught sight of Raphael Santiago, his scrawny build unmistakable even in the gloomy light of what passed for dawn here, kneeling on the grass with a gorgeous black haired girl. Magnus slowed down. They were pouring over a large blueprint and some kind of drone with an opened chassis between them, both their bags overflowing with more rolled up blueprints. The girl had a wrench in her hand and Rafa was reading at loud form a tablet.

Magnus shook his head; crazy baby engineers, playing around at 7 am when they could probably still be in bed.

Some engineers and hackers had what passed as PE classes in the Academy together, but Rafa was only fifteen (to Magnus’ eighteen) so they didn’t share any classes. It sucked as the boy was better company than most idiots Magnus had the displeasure to interact with on daily basis in his age group.

“Hey Bane!” Rafa called as he got closer to them, stopping his instructions to the girl. He wasn’t smiling but he wasn’t not smiling either, which was the friendliest Rafa ever got. 

Magnus had stopped flinching when people used his new name by then; it rolled over him like gentle water, washing away memories and pain, little by little.

The girl was wearing the same blue tie as Rafa, definitively marking her as his classmate. Magnus, as a future MI6 handler and hacker trainee, had an offensive looking mustard colored tie somewhere in his closet; he had replaced it with a vibrant safran one for his uniform first thing senior year, and to hell with M and her rules. The future field agents wore red ties but Magnus had never seen those teenagers out of their military fatigues or blessfully tight black spandex (when they actually were seen on their side of the campus and not galavanting in the woods for days).

Magnus though the color coding was hilarious, not only because he got away with wearing a better color than the peasants but also because at some point in the Academy history, a Star Trek nerd had assigned said colors.

He gave Rafa his best imitation of the Queen’s little hand wave and the girl (damn she was really cute and her makeup was  _ on point _ ) toppled over laughing like a loon, clutching her sides while Rafa rolled his eyes.

“Hey Rafa! Hey Rafa’s girlfriend!” he shouted cheerfully. Rafa rolled his eyes  _ again _ and the girl made a face.

“Are you crushing on me, Rafa?” she asked faking shock.

“In your dreams Lightwood, and you! continue running!” Rafa ordered. He looked like an angry cat and Magnus couldn’t help but coo at him as he jogged passed them.

Magnus didn’t know what it was like to have a little brother but if it meant embarrassing them a little and punching their bullies, then Rafa was family. They had only knew each other for a few months but Magnus already knew that he would try to keep in contact even after he graduated at the end of the year, just like with Tessa.

 

He was near completing his five miles when it started to rain, the icy drops drenching Magnus’ training clothes in seconds.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell. Just four more months till he graduated and was authorized back in London. Four months till he could have his life back -or at least, begin to live his new one.  _ Four months. It’s nothing _ , he thought as he jogged back to his classmates.  _ I survived nearly four years here. Four months are going be over in a blink of an eye. _

 

*****

**NOW**

Alec stirs awake, feeling like shit.

“Ah sleeping beauty is awake!” Morgenstern says loudly, close to Alec’s ear. 

The type of closeness reserved for people you trust. For lovers.

He doesn’t move, afraid that the move will hurt too much but hazily opens his eyes. This close Morgenstern looks like a moonfish and Alec blinks away the sight, just in time to see Magnus rounding up a huge desk from the corner of his eye. He comes at his side, blocking him from Morgenstern’ curious eyes with his huge shoulders.

Alec giggles, Magnus just... so buff.

“Hey babe,” Alec manages, feeling sick and foggy and floating. He’s disoriented for a moment (short or long, he doesn’t know) but Magnus doesn't look angry like this morning and a tension in Alec eases out, even if the guilt is still overwhelmingly present.

“Hey you,” Magnus answers, choking on relief. “Don’t move you big giraffe.”

“My head- hurts…”  _ like a bitch _ . So does everything in his body; bruises on top of bruises; blood and the dirty cotton taste in his mouth caused by whatever they sedated him with; the dull throbbing on his side, way worst than this morning; a eye swelled shut; his nose might be broken… the list goes on.

“Yes, it would surprise me that it didn’t,” Magnus says drily, “with all the fighting you did with it.”

“Madzie,” Alec justifies and asks at the same time. God, what happened to her?

“Back to the dormitories for the day,” Morgenstern informs him, at the same time that Magnus asks quizzically, “the little girl from yesterday?”

Alec doesn’t have time to explain his stay at the hospital that Morgenstern puts a hand on Magnus’ shoulder (Alec wants to cut it off and slap Morgenstern with it, how dares he touch Magnus?!) and says “you have work to do, Mr. Bane” with something hard in his voice that doesn’t leave a lot of room for interpretation.

Magnus affectionately cards his fingers through Alec’s hair for a second and mouths “I love you” before going back to the desk, where a laptop is waiting for him before Alec can make the word travel through the fog of pain to his mouth.

“My my, Mr. Lightwood, you gave us quite the performance earlier,” Morgenstern says, “and shamed my men with devastating efficiency.”

Alec nods minutely. 

“I’ll send you back to the hospital when your boyfriend is finished here,” Morgenstern announces, “you do look like some medical attention is in order.”

Alec nods again, as unengaging as the first time. That kind of answer makes Morgenstern loses interest in poking him with words and he goes check whatever Magnus is doing for him, hovering behind his shoulder.

_ I’m going to kill- _ Alec heaves, mouth filling with acid but he swallows right back, closing his eyes a second to breath in some control over his body.  _ This isn’t good.  _ Alec is scared by this developpement. Until now, all the work Magnus has done was in his lab, not in what appear to be Morgenstern’s inner sanctum. This means trouble, something that the arsehole in chief isn’t comfortable to share with his minions or he’s outright hiding from them.

The man looks tense, even if he goes to great lengths to appear nonchalant. So it’s important but he doesn’t want them to know; yet his Number 2 isn’t here at the ready to deal with the problem. Verlac’s absence is troubling, unless… Morgenstern’s son  _ is _ the problem. Alec sighs,  _ You reap what you sow _ . And in this case, Magnus and Alec will be caught between the sickle and whatever kind of nasty cough grass Verlac is.

Alec discreetly checks the room, memorizing the layout for later use and to better capture Morgenstern’s personality. The room isn’t much, like the idea of an Important Person office, without anything personal beside the ridiculously imposing furniture, a few art pieces and nothing more, just like a corny movie set. Maryse’s office, in comparison, is made of sleek modern lines and hard glass, an ode to modernity and tech. M’s is the opposite, all wood and worn out leather, speaking of traditions, continuity and power -the fourniture probably salvaged from the Century House when the MI6 moved to the current headquarter back in ‘94. Both style speak volume about the occupants but Alec just wants to roll his eyes at Morgenstern… just a knife playing boss, enough to impress his minions but certainly not Alec.  _ Fuck, I probably should barf on his shoes. _

“Does this,” Morgenstern, still behind Magnus, vaguely gestures at the screen, “is really necessary?”

“Well, depends if you want him to be aware that his laptop isn’t secure anymore,” Magnus answers, inkling Alec that he might be right about who’s the thorn in Morgenstern’s arse.

Morgenstern chuckles. “Carry on then. I should know better than to question a professional as he works,” he says too easily, tone not matching the tensed lines on his forehead.

The silence that follows is only broken by Magnus’ staccato of keystrokes and Alec is grateful not to have Morgenstern monologuing away within earshot so he can concentrate on sitting up on his own devices. The endeavor leaves him short-breathed and aching, clutching his side and for a five good minutes, he’s sure is about to throw up on the carpet. God he should have stayed laying down but he felt too exposed… not that he could defend himself with his head pounding like that or his one good eye losing focus every time he moves it around the room.

Shit. Fighting when already injured isn’t something that his body can take anymore (could  _ never _ take but he had always been good at forcing it too).  _ It was worth it _ , he thinks anyway. Sure, he should have kept his strength for any escape plan that he and Magnus might come up with. That’s something that he would have done in a heartbeat a few years ago, but he couldn’t let those bastards get away with hurting kids without getting a taste of their own medicine.

"Uh,” Magnus says, attracting Alec’s attention on him.

Magnus continues to look down at the screen for a while, brow arching disdainfully at whatever he's reading. Morgenstern's easy going attitude is slipping away fast as he stares at Magnus with anticipation, body and face so tense he's probably about to pop a vein, Alec thinks. Now that would be nice.

Magnus huffs again, louder and every bit as mocking as he can get as he types away. Alec keeps quiet, even when Morgenstern glares his way like he’s expecting him to translate Magnus’ thoughts as if he is privy to them. He isn’t, but yeah, he has known Magnus for years now, worked with him and loved him for the same amount of time. God, he’s so beautiful like this, focused and sharp. Alec never really had the occasion of seeing him work, not really. Listening to him though, Alec did that plenty. He knows that Magnus is only silent when something bad is happening, something that is about to hit Alec in the face.

And it’s not like Alec could wither a new storm right now.

“What?” Morgenstern finally cracks, demanding.

Magnus doesn’t answer, not at first, but seems to get angrier by the second. Suddenly he gets up, abandoning the laptop and brusquely gestures for Morgenstern to take his place. The man does so immediately, brows knitting over whatever he’s seeing.

Magnus stands behind him looking somber and, when he meets Alec’s eye, he shakes his head tightly.

“How did you uncover this?” Morgenstern demands, voice harsh and all pretence of warmth forgotten.

“Nothing is truly erased on a hard drive. You just need to know how to recover it, but that’s why some of the pictures are distorted, some data gets corrupted,” Magnus explains slowly, anger breaking the surface as he adds, “if you’re accusing me of faking this, no one could have fabricated those pictures and reports under an hour, even with an archivist to help.”

Morgenstern grunts, scrolling down, his face twisting more and more.

“That little bastard,” he mutters and shuts the laptop violently.

Both Magnus and Alec tense at the move, expecting that his anger and frustration will be aimed at them soon.

“Well, we’re finished here. Mr. Bane, I believe that your guest is due for a small check up, make sure he doesn’t knocks out anyone this time,” Morgenstern dismisses them. “Tell Pangborn you can take one of the jeeps to drive in.”

Magnus immediately goes to the door and gets Pangborn to help Alec out of the room, leaving Morgenstern alone in his office to contemplate whatever bloody bad shit Magnus found for him.

Magnus is carrying him and, in the place of his brain that Izzy called his supreme gayness center, Alec is finding it hard not to drool. Shit, he must have hurt his head real bad -again. Or Magnus is that attractive and broad shouldered and… Alec blinks. Once. Twice. He’s not being carried anymore, but sitting in a jeep, Magnus quickly fastening his seatbelt. He must have checked out for a moment and takes a sharp and painful breath, forcing his eye open.

Even as he gets in the driver’s seat, Magnus’s jaw is clenched shut and his hands, his beautiful hand that Alec loves so much, winds up around the wheel gripping it so tight his knuckles turn white. Even Alec’s blurry eye can see the pain on his face and the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“What’s the problem?” Alec mumbles. He doesn’t want to know… he’s tired of Morgenstern and this place. So tired.

“Verlac has someone stalking Clary and Jocelyn. Incidentally, Jace and Luke along. It’s…” Magnus stops, too angry for words, “ _ detailed, _ ” he finally spats. “Reports on their schedules, their homes, his sister’s favorite brand of paints, Jocelyn’s usual lunch spots, down to what brand of lube-” Magnus doesn’t finish but Alec gets the idea and dread freezes his blood.

He breathes in. Out. In. Out. In. Out. “Morgenstern didn’t know,” he comments. There’s no real need to ask.

“Pretty sure he expected some hostile takeover of his empire with patricide on the top… well, we could only hope,” Magnus says as he stabs the key in the ignition.

“Well, shit.”

Alec can see it playing out in front of him all too clearly. Men and women loyal to Verlac, following Jocelyn and Clary as they go through their day, taking pictures, cataloguing every move, researching their husbands -Luke and  _ Jace _ -, asserting behaviour and, perhaps if Verlac is feeling particularly cocky, planning extractions or assassinations… He needs to throws up again. To pass out and wake up safe and sound in the cabin, Magnus snoring in his arms.

Yeah. Alec was better off not knowing and by the looks of it, Magnus was too, because there is not a damn thing they can do from here.

 

*****

**THEN**

Alec was in the middle of some four-figure price tag room in a prestigious hotel, so big and lavish, with high ceilings, thick curtains and modern arts hanging off the walls. A beautiful european capital just outside with its lull of traffic giving a fake impression of calm, waiting to be explored and have its secrets learnt. But it wasn’t really important.

No. The center of Alec’s universe right then was the body bag Klaus -a local MI6 mole- was spreading near the coffee table. 

The body bag had Alec’s name on it. 

He had knew something was amiss the moment Klaus opened the door, more eager than usual to make his report to Alec, who had been overseeing this operation for a month now. He still went in, curious and  _ ready _ . Four men in cheaper suit than his were waiting for him inside, closing the exits and looking somber. Two of them he knew, lesser agents in the MI6, no double-os or irreplaceable moles, but valuable -all of them detached for this particular mission and under his command.

_ Good men in a storm _ , Robert Lightwood would say. Alec thought the same, even with their purpose more than obvious as he had not called them here tonight _. Easy betrayal, especially with orders _ , Alec supposed.

Magnus asked something, sounding frantic, but Alec could barely hear him.  _ For the better _ , he supposed. He needed his focus on evaluating the four men -Klaus wasn’t a fighter and would not engage- that were gauging him back, hands on their guns, but those were still in their holsters. So they had orders, or he would be dead already. The higher-ups needed something from him before a quick shot to the head and his body rolled up in the bag. He had done that a couple of times himself… to  _ traitors _ . Something he definitively wasn’t.

“It’s not personal 009,” Klaus said, smirking. It was, at least between them. “But we have our orders.”

Alec nodded, ignoring Magnus’ voice again. MI6 didn’t have a use for him anymore, so be it. But he didn’t have to make the task easy for them. Unfortunately he didn’t have a gun, only his knife and it was concealed on his lower back and you don’t go to a gunfight with a knife and hope to win.

“Woody I swear, I’m not-” Magnus begged but Alec refused to listen. He needed his head, not his heart right now... and thinking, even for a second, that Magnus might have known about this made his stomach turn viciously. 

“And what did I do to displease M?” he asked, the fury in him growing stronger, wilder.

“I don’t question orders 009. Perhaps that’s why I’m on the right side of the body bag,” Klaus answered smugly, opening his arms widely as if to take Alec in his arms. 

He tried that, in the beginning, his old flat arse flirting with Alec relentlessly to his and Magnus’ open disgust. Alec had put him back in his place, but the man still had groped his arse the week before.  _ All. Night. Long. _ Alec had no possibility to make it stop as they were at dinner with Klaus’ colleagues and, despite Alec’s choice of cover as his nephew, Klaus had introduced him as his “young man” with the innapropriate smirking and winking that people as crass as Klaus cherished. Alec had twisted his arm and nearly dislocated his shoulder afterward. 

Magnus’ panicked begging stopped abruptly, the comms cut off and replaced by heavy silence. Alec thought for a second that he had been dropped and left to die, but he heard breathing on the other side, then:

“009, you know better than to react to this,” M’s dry voice said, “Mr. Klaus and this men are to be dealt with, your doubts on his work for us and his connections were founded. There is a Glock in the champagne bucket. Don’t kill the blond one, we still need him.”

And with that, she was gone, the comms switched back to Magnus. God, he sounded so upset. Alec wasn’t any better, his anger about being so casually and unfairly  _ dismissed _ giving way to cold resentment. They could have told them beforehand; instead M chose to let he and Magnus sweat, to let them fear… to what purpose was the actual question.

The bucket was only a few feet away from him on a small, fancy wheelcart and was containing a a jéroboam sized champagne bottle -fucking huge, something that would  _ hurt _ if Alec used it as a club.

If he got to the bucket before the men shot at him that was.

“So… why am I still breathing?” he asked, adding some bite to his words.

“M needs to know to what extent you compromised MI6.”

Alec snorted. Klaus had no shame, that had always been obvious. Closing his eyes for show, he let the tension in his body go, like a man giving up. He smiled.

“Oh well. No need to pretend anymore. Loyalty to  _ them _ isn’t going to save me now,” he sounded bitter to his ears, just the right tone he heard agents use as they confessed, just right before he put them down. It felt dirty to only parrot them, Alec could barely imagine their shame. “You mind?” he asked Klaus as he designated the unopened bottle in its bucket.

The man frowned, searching for a tell on Alec’s face that he was making a move. He found none, either because he wasn’t that skilled or Alec was that good. Still, he nodded, a leering grin on his lips “I’ll even let you sit on my lap, naughty boy.”

Alec smiled back at the soon-to-be dead man, “you’re a pig Klaus, I need you to know that” and reached for a glass, then, thinking of the blond man guarding the balcony window, set up a second glass on the table -he doubted the wheelcart would be intact in a minute or two. In his ears Magnus was talking to someone else, cursing them quite colorfully. He could only hope it wasn’t M.

“So, your confession?” Klaus prompted. He was getting restless, probably not use to this sort of proceeding.

_ Old bag of guts. _ Oh he was clever enough and well versed in the art of deceit, but Alec had found discrepancies in what he could see with own two eyes and whatever intel Klaus was feeding MI6. Errors of judgement Alec had thought at first. After all, moles weren’t picked for their smarts but rather the position they occupied and any greedy tendencies. He had still sent a report, to be sure.

And here he was. Tested.  _ Again _ .

The jéroboam bottle was heavy -three liters of exquisite Dom Pérignon, a shame to waste it as a weapon. Alec was reluctantly relieved to see the hint of a black gun hidden under the ice cubes, 

visible now that the bottle was removed and only to him. He didn’t put it past M to bloody lie just to fuck with his head. Old hag obviously had a someone working in this hotel… they probably could have clean up those men, soM wanted to work an angle. On him.  _ On us _ , he corrected, Magnus’ voice in his ears.  _ Bitch. _

“I’m afraid my tale of treason is rather dull,” he said to Klaus, faking a nervous laugh. He even waved the bottle derisively, to attract everyone’s eyes on it. “This costs more than my monthly salary I think.”

“Woody, you would never-” Magnus accused in disbelief. 

With his other hand, Alec reached for the gun. The metal was cold as ice of course, but Alec could already feel how hot it would get after killing four men with it. The safety was off and knowing M as the meticulous old hag she was, there was a bullet already in the chamber. Seven bullets then, largely enough.

“Jesus is that a gun?!” Magnus exclaimed in his ears, incomprehension clear.

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional,” Alec said to him, channeling some cockiness that would have make Jace proud, before swiftly shooting the closest agent. The second one didn’t have his gun half drawn when Alec’s shot hit him in the chest. Both dropped like stones. It’s a bloody constant, if someone has a gun and yours isn’t ready, they win.

_ I win. _

The blond threw himself at Alec, but he was twice his size and in control. Alec powerfully kicked the wheelcart in the man’s legs to stop him and shot his shoulder, incapacitating him.

Number four though, had time to react and punched Alec right in the face before tripping him, sending him rolling… Alec shot the man twice in the stomach as he rolled on his back and kicked him away from him. The agent crashed on a wall, stumbled and fell. He didn’t stir. Alec got up, cracking his neck with a satisfying pop.

Somehow, the bottle of champagne was at Klaus’ feet, intact. Alec didn’t remember dropping it.

The old man was clutching a gun with both hands, holding it all wrong -an amateur. Again, moles weren’t picked for skills. Good God, he was fumbling with the trigger, desperately looking from the gun to Alec advancing on him with increased terror.

“You’re safety is on,” Alec pointed out, mock helpful.

That owned him a foul curse from Magnus but Alec barely heard him over the gunshot. Klaus dropped dead, a hole between in eyes.

It had all happened in less than a minute. Four dead, one left. Soon the police would get here, alerted by the racket.

“Babe, I need an extraction plan,” he asked calmly while looking at the blond agent. The man was clutching his shoulder with a little towel. It must have been white, now it was blood red.

“You knew?” the outrage Magnus felt hurt Alec.

“No. M muted you and ordered a spring cleaning. Aren’t you glad I’m no traitor?”

“I fucking knew that you wanker!” Magnus shouted back. Then, after a few calming breathes, “I shut down the hotel’s phones but I can’t access the cell phone towers in that little time. So you might want to get a move on. Just smear some blood on you and take the agent you left alive with you down the stairs.”

“The old ‘there’s a shooter on the fifth floor’?” Alec chuckled.

“Never gets old, that one,” Magnus agreed, but Alec could still hear how upset he was.

Alec crouched in front of the blond. The man was crying and had still not taken out his gun. 

“You’re caught,” Alec said simply.

The man nodded.

“If you cooperate, M will give you a fairer treatment than the germans if they find a foreign agent on their soil. I won’t lie, you’re dead either way, but at least your family will get your pension.”

He nodded again and didn’t struggle when Alec forced him up, or when he walked them the front door. Alec left him there a second, just enough time to retrieve the champagne bottle. No waste. In the soon to be panic, no one would pay attention to it anyway. He gave a last glance to the room and took out his keychain, twisting the bottom part several times and threw it on the nearest couch before quickly leaving the suite with the traitor. The corridor was filled with running people already and some cowered as they saw Alec and his prisoner.

“I can’t believe you lifted the champagne!” Magnus exclaimed.

Alec was spared to think of something witty to say when an explosion rattled the floor under his feet. Shouts and screams quickly filled the hotel and Alec walked faster.

“I would have told you, you know,” Magnus begins softly. “About the ambush, I mean. If I had knew M was  _ dismissing _ you, I would have told you.”

God. That damn man. That bloody heart he had in him, alway trying to follow it, especially when Alec was concerned. It sickened Alec to be the object of such loyalty and foolishness. He believed Magnus’ every word though, his own heart beating a little harder than it should because of it. They were talking about treason and Alec couldn’t help but agree. A little voice in his head couldn’t help but worry M had wanted confirmation of that.

“I wouldn’t have let you die if I could have stopped it,” Magnus went on. 

“I know,” Alec let out, guiding his prisoner down the emergency stairs, following panicking people in their night clothes.

He would have done the same.

 

*****

**NOW**

Between worry, sleep and painkillers, the next few days pass in a blur for Alec. Magnus doesn’t quite treat him like he’s made of spinned sugar, but it’s a close thing. And of course, there is this… distance between them; a new restrain in the way he acts and talks. Alec just have himself to blame.

They don’t talk about Verlac and his stalking. What would be the point? They are both trapped here, powerless. Going around in circle over the nasty piece of news wouldn’t have done much beside make them go crazy.

So Alec sleeps and takes it easy even when they’re  _ invited _ to Morgenstern’s mansion for lunch and Verlac is there, smug as can be when he sees Alec limping into the dinner room. Yet, Alec is pleased to see that the other man’s nose is still a nasty shade of purple and slightly crooked, a little souvenir of a nicely placed punch Alec gave him. He couldn’t give him the thrashing he deserved, but he had broken his nose nonetheless. 

This time, the four of them get to the dessert without dramatic reveal of secret identities or too many vague death threats -which doesn’t stop Alec from spending the entire meal fantasizing about killing Verlac with his little spoon. Morgenstern plays his part of the graceful host soothingly and if Alec didn’t remember his furious expression a few days ago, he wouldn’t have guessed that something had changed between father and son. Alec has to admit, the man does have an amazing poker face. Magnus, on the other hand, gave Verlac the cold shoulder even more than before but that’s okay; no one would expect anything else after Verlac tried to use Alec as a punching bag during  _ training _ . 

They’re going back to the suite after lunch, walking slowly to spare Alec’s still aching body, when Magnus stops dead in his tracks without warning.

Alec turns around, his hand still in Magnus’ and he squeezes it, trying to get his attention. “Magnus?” he calls, worried by the cold mask of anger on his lover’s face. His expression looks even more dreadful with the rather austere makeup he’s been wearing since Alec went to the hospital, like he’s expecting a funeral any minute now. A grim reminder of how much Alec fucked up.

“You  _ lied,” _ Magnus says bluntly, looking him straight in the eyes.

Alec cocks his head to the side, not following his lover’s train of thoughts and then it hits him… they never got the time or the energy to discuss what he did that morning. He should have known that Magnus would snap out of his caretaker mode sooner or later. It was too much to hope that he would wait to be inside and not in the middle of the camp. 

“I did,” he says.

Magnus looks pleasantly surprised for a second, relieved perhaps by Alec’s readiness to talk, but the sadness and resolve bleed back on his face quickly. Yet he doesn’t let go of Alec’s hand; it helps not panicking.

“You act like a burden that has to be endured. That’s part of who you are, I always knew that. You won’t change overnight, because they hurt you too deep… but, Alexander, you think you have to live in pain -and you would, don’t you dare say otherwise, it was your first instinct- and that’s wrong.” Magnus’ voice is pained but steady, a testament to his opinion on the matter.

“Magnus,” Alec begins but the other stops him with a look.

“I know you were probably still reeling from that nightmare and your thigh acting up… what I’m trying to say is that, I don’t want to police the way you hurt Alexander, but I sure as hell won’t stand by as you put yourself through unnecessary pain.

Alec looks away for a moment, trying to find the right words. The groups of shouting kids and patrols, the fences seem to press back on his lungs… even the blue sky doesn't help. He turns his eyes back to Magnus finally, tightening his hold on Magnus’ hand, incapable of letting go. His manicured hand is sweaty, revealing how stressed Magnus must be.

_ He probably thinks I’m going to tell him to sod off _ , Alec suspects. It wouldn’t be the first time, even if Alec never used that kind of language with Magnus.

“I-” he stops, lost and forces his other hand not to go to the back of his head. “I like how it w- how  _ I was _ at the cabin. I love it. Not being afraid, not expecting guns and knives and betrayal at every corner, not having to enter rooms where my death is waiting for me… I never knew it could be like this Magnus. That’s what I want.”

Magnus nods encouragingly.

“But here it’s not… easy. And I’m sorry I lied, not just the other day but- every time you tried to reach to me and I brushed you off,” he continues, not sure where to go from there, what to say to keep the careful balance of truth and realistic goals. “When we’re out of here, I’ll get help.” The words stings his throat, admitting weaknesses never was in his skill set. “ _ Professional _ help. I don’t want to continue to hurt or hurt you along.” The idea is unbearable to him and tears he kept inside for a few days finally floods his eyes.

“Oh darling, we’ll get you the best,” Magnus whispers before taking him in a strong hug, his arms like a fortress around Alec. “And lots of sun, because your arse is a bit pale.”

Despite his joke, Alec can hear the emotion in Magnus’ voice and feels the slight wetness on his neck, where Magnus is pressing his face. He wounds his arms around Magnus’ broad chest, eager to erase any distance between them, physical or emotional.

“My arse is perfect, you said so yourself ‘the Pope would have to adjust his robes’ quote end quote,” Alec throws back, half choking on relief.

“Meh, everything can be improved by a bit of tan, Alexander,” Magnus says lightly.

That doesn’t stop Alec from seeing the plans in his perfect head already coming together. God. He probably has a few psychiatrists’ numbers ready on the side, as well as a top ten list of vacation spots for them to go through. Alec doesn’t know what he did to deserve such a man, but he’s sure as hell not taking any more risks of losing him.

Or losing himself either.

“I won’t lie again. But…” he starts. It’s not easy to acknowledge possible failure, “but if I do, I’m sorry. Know that I don’t mean it. Know that  _ I trust you _ . I do. So much, Magnus.”

Magnus lets go of him, slowly, reluctantly, and Alec is force to do the same. But he takes Alec’s face in his hands immediately and says “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind love,” before kissing him on the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get back to the suite, I’m freezing.”

Alec smiles; it hurts a little as he hasn’t had the occasion to do so in a few days and it probably shows because Magnus kisses him again, harder, even as a patrol passes them on the path they're on and one of Morgenstern’s soldiers cat calls them.

“It’s burgundy by the way,” Magnus whispers against his lips.

“What?”

“You asked me what my favorite colour was that morning; it’s burgundy.”

Alec can’t help a snort. It really does sound outlandish. But again, so did the possibility of happiness a few years ago.

 

*****

**THEN**

Looking down at his screen, Magnus took another swallow of his too-hot coffee, barely registering the burn. He was fuming… there was just something horrible in witnessing the man he had a crush on flirting with someone else and doing it so effortlessly that it was nearly impossible to recognize him. Magnus should’ve been used to it by now, but he wasn’t and hoped he would never be -he would not  _ calcify _ , he would not let the world and its injustices be just a job and, yes, he might be wrecked in the process, but that would be better than cold indifference.

_ Being alive means more than a beating heart _ , Lilith used to say.

At this point of the night, Magnus couldn’t call it flirting anymore. No, they were past the casual niceties and drink offering, dangerously approaching the outright ‘you, me, bed,  _ now _ ’ phase that Magnus dreaded so much. He felt sick, jealousy coursing through his veins along with absolute worry for his agent. Woody was always so unbearably quiet after sleeping with someone for a mission.

Dead quiet.

And it would go on for hours, days sometimes depending on how bad it got, just silence and the occasional monosyllabic answer (but more likely, Woody would just grunt). Magnus felt powerless and so damn dirty. He was the one facilitating the operation, was the one making sure Woody knew how to act to catch the eyes of a particular target… and sometimes Magnus couldn’t make his way in a server, leaving no choice to Woody than to flirt his way into someone’s bed to get passwords, ID and other stupid things that Magnus should have handed.

On his screens, Magnus could see how hungry Peter Morrison (an embassy attache in Mumbaï) was for 009, how determinate. Yeah, that man wouldn’t relent before he had Woody in his bed in the same way Woody went through a lot of trouble to get his attention in the first place (including stealing a car and crashing it into the target’s regular prostitute’s car, making the boy toy busy at the police station and Alec free to slip in in his place, looking way too pretty alone at the bar for the embassy attache not to  _ notice _ ).

And so here they were, the attache quite insistent and Woody so dutiful that he was playing along convincingly -even if the man was in his inglorious late forties, his hair thinning at the top of his head, his face a tad ruddy from too much beer too often, and rather dull in the wanna-be-daddy-material way.

Magnus wanted to destroy something. At the moment, Peter Morrison’s face would have been perfect but instead, he forced himself to breathe deeply several times and settled for checking that his virus was up and running for when Woody would give him a point of entry. 

“Mumbaï is so lonely when you don’t know the right people,” Morrison purred.

Woody’s eyes (and his cameras) flicked a second to the man’s hand on his knee and Magnus could see the pale skin where Morrison’s wedding ring was when he wasn’t fucking around with prostitutes -a hand worth breaking. Cheating on his wife was probably a small offense for him, since the man was allegedly selling intel to Iran. 

Magnus took another sip of coffee and knocked a few teeth out of Morrison's mouth in his mind.

“Oh I know, I’ve been dying to find some company,” Woody answers, with Brian Atkins’ slurring accent, faking mild drunkenness like a champ. His voice was unrecognizable and Magnus disliked it.

“How come? pretty thing like you should be fighting off suitors by the dozen,” the target leered, eyeing Woody up and down like the fucking twat he was.

“The  _ right _ company,” Woody giggled and Morrison smiled, all smug. Magnus couldn’t say if the man knew he was getting hustled for cash and didn’t care or if he actually believed that he could attract such a devastatingly attractive man like Woody.

Before coming to the hotel bar, Woody had put on an entire outfit that made him look younger than his twenty-four: black skinny jeans and some shimmery shirt that Magnus had to order for him, opened to reveal most of his pecs (he had shaved his chest hair to look more boyish, something Magnus had witnessed with a sense of loss bigger than Russia and absolutely stupid since he had never touched 009’s chest despite  _ wanting _ it badly),  along with some eyeliner. The same kind of stuff Magnus had saw a hundred times before in clubs, worn by guys who just wanted to get laid.

Woody had expressed his distaste for the clothes while Magnus had been busy dying a little over how good his double-o’s arse looked in those jeans while simultaneously fighting off a scream… he knew all too well what was their purpose.

To attract. 

To  _ fool _ .

They called it  _ honey pot _ missions and it was an apt name. Despite the sweetness the name implied and the sultry take on reality they used in spy movies, the ordeal was horrible. But again, Magnus supposed that it did sell better than to show James Bond throwing up in a bathroom afterwards or having to go home and look his significant other in the eyes. Magnus hated those assignments more than anything and he couldn’t imagine how the agents who actually had to lay back and think of England fared.

On Woody’s screen, the agent was suddenly on the offensive, pushing a stray lock of hair out of Morrison’s eyes, gently. That seems to do it for the other man and before Magnus could mock Woody’s move, Morrison was on him, and Woody closed his eyes, leaving Magnus to rely on the furious kissing noise in his ears and the security camera feed at the bar.

He looked away.

“Woody? I’m going for a snack break, back in twenty,” he said quickly, before taking off his earpiece, knowing that he wouldn't have an answer nor did he wanted to hear what would follow.

“Cat?” he called, “going for-”

“Snacks, I heard,” she answered back over the partition between their desks. “Don’t let loverboy get ya down.”

“What did he do this time?” Ragnor butted in loudly, his desk farther away down the row and attracting the attention of other handlers.

Magnus rolled his eyes. His friends had no sense of propriety. He would get back at them for it later.

“Sleeping with an ambassador’s attache,” Cat answered, before shooting an apologetic look to Magnus as he passed beside her.

“Good God, that boy surely gets around,” Rufus commented, smirking.

Magnus stopped dead in his tracks, zeroing on his colleague’s beady little eyes and the man didn’t have the good sense to look away or apologize immediately. “What the hell did you say?” he asked coolly, rage quickly cracking the polished surface he presented to the world. From the corner of his eyes, Magnus could see Tessa getting out of the kitchenette, ‘oh shit’ written all over her round face, while Ragnor swore  _ bollock _ s under his breath.

Rufus shrugged, unmoved by the tension. “They’re just high paid whores that can kill. Don’t know why you always get so riled up about that guy.”

Magnus always had a temper under all that ice. Lilith taught him how to behave and smooth the anger into a mask, how to get revenge like a proper little lord -from afar and with his hands clean. But sometimes punching people is the only way that will do. 

  
  


Magnus ended up in M’s office later, a cold pack on his brow and the old bat’s voice in his ears. It was worth it. Rufus was in the infirmary, nose broken and back in his place.

It hadn’t just been because Rufus insulted Woody that Magnus had snapped… all the field agents would give their life for this country in a heartbeat if it was necessary; men and women doing it every day, assuming fake names and personas, burying deep who they were to transform into what  _ MI6 needed _ them to be. Magnus wasn’t about to let anyone spit on them or their sacrifices.

“Bane!” M barked, forcing his attention back on her. She was wearing one of her usual drab grey suit, its cut raised from the 50’s like an escaped wax statue from Madame Tussauds, the relic of another time.

Magnus graced her with a dazzling smile, “yes?”

She got to her feet and for the first time Magnus saw the pain in her eyes as she walked, the stiffness in her gait. She was getting  _ old _ , and somehow he hadn’t noticed. Jesus, eleven years had passed since he was enrolled in MI6 and he had never thought of her as anything less than deadly but now, she just looked her sixty-something, deeply. Magnus must have frowned because she glared at him, steeling her spine in the process before whacking him on the leg with her cane.

“Stupid boy, always thinking with that useless thing in your chest rather than your head… prison would have made you harder,” she complained. It lacked heat, probably because she was tired of repeating herself.

Magnus caught himself before saying he was hard when and where it mattered. That would have owned him another hit and oh boy, he was way more tired than he though if that’s the kind of answer his brain concocted for M.

“It’s called a heart, M. We all have one,” he assured her, but without meaning to his eyes found her chest and he couldn’t help but speculate if the hag herself had one.

“I had the thing carved out when you were still in diapers, Bane.” Her voice was mocking. “It’s easier after that.”

The way she was looking at him, Magnus could feel her disappointment against him, like a sculptor frowning at what had been a promising piece but had end up crooked and oddly proportioned. She had raised him in a way, put him through fire and hammered down to make him a weapon. And because he still had a heart, she saw him as a failure.

Asmodeus had stared at Magnus like that, albeit for different motives: objecting at his birth on the wrong side of the blanket and the color of his skin, the shape of his eyes... Even Lilith had wished him different than who he was growing up to be, trying to keep him small and manageable. At least she had done so to protect him, out of love, but that barely softened the blow of disappointing the only person that had cared.

Magnus didn’t have anything to say to M and he looked her dead in the eyes as if to convey that he would not change or apologize.  

She hit him once more with her cane. “Go back to your station and pack immediately, you’re suspended without pay for a week.”

Magnus nodded and exited the office quickly, even though he had a few choice words in mind to throw back at her, knowing all too well that bargaining with the devil never did him any good.

  
  


“Cat, will you handle Woody will I’m gone?” he asked sweetly once he was back to the Handlers’ floor.

“Mission’s over, he’s on his way to the airport.”

“What? How?” Magnus demanded.

“He got the files you needed. The Big Suits upstairs are preparing for a series of arrests… it’s going to be a pain to deal with the press,” Catarina shuddered, “I wouldn’t like to be the PM right now. I can already see the headlines  _ Diplomat _ -” 

Magnus stopped listening and looked down at his watch, he hadn’t realized three hours had passed. “How…” Magnus struggled with the words for a moment, “how was he doing, last time you spoke?”

Catarina looked confused but then took in Magnus’ worried face and said “looking for you.”

She did not met his eyes after that and Magnus knew why. For all her posturing about being made of stone, Cat cared -deeply. Magnus found himself nodding again, before going back to his desk and throwing his clatter in his messenger bag before leaving the Handlers’ floor, glowering at any intern stupid enough to stare at him.

He just wished he could have been there for Woody, even 4000 miles away.

 

*****

**NOW**

Alec’s days are the weirdest routine now. He’s not used to be treated relatively well when he’s kidnapped; but he has huge bed, a very posh bathroom and nothing to do with his time beside following Magnus like a very useless plus-one.tAt least his body gets the respite it so direly needs.

It’s maddening this… calm; maddening and fake, giving him more time to worry about everything happening just outside of his grasp.

The only part that makes it okay is Magnus. In the morning when he wakes up, face free of makeup and looking so soft Alec just wants to roll him in bubble wrap so he doesn’t get bruised by the world; after his shower when his hair looks weird; when he tries to cajole Alec into putting on some eyeliner; the way he hums when he works on whatever project Morgenstern assigned him for the day; his private smiles during lunch when Pangborn isn’t looking; the groan of relief when he’s done and they can go back to the suite, to the giant bathtub and the bed to fucking sleep. Even his snoring is endearing, which is crazy.

Alec is just shocked every time he turns and Magnus is there, by his side. God, how ridiculous he must look like when he’s caught staring, mouth open and a flush on his checks. And Magnus just smiles, fond (fonder than he deserves, but Alec tries his hardest not to think that).

He’s reading a report on a cartel in Spain that owes a 2.6 million debt to Morgenstern when Magnus pushes back from his desk with a loud groan and lets the momentum of his spinning chair take him to the door of the lab.

Alec frowns but catches what time it is on the clock above the door: it’s noon. He didn’t realize he had read the morning away, too absorbed by the intel at his disposition he had sworn to learn as much of in the case they escape without physical intel to use against Morgenstern (though Alec plans on putting a bullet in his brain before he and Magnus leave this fucking place).

Pangborn opens the door a second later and nearly drops their lunch as he’s startled by Magnus.

“What the hell!” he shouts.

Magnus swiftly gets up and takes the tray of sandwiches and water bottles from Pangborn while blocking the door with his body at the same time. "Now, shoo, off you go," he orders the henchman imperiously. 

Alec tenses, hand half to his gun holster by reflex. What in the ever loving fuck is Magnus doing?

"But- I'm supposed to-" the henchman protests.

"Yes, yes, but, you see this is  _ my _ lunch break and I'm taking it with my boyfriend. You would just get in the way,” Magnus explains to him gravely.

Pangborn chokes on nothing.

"You can't have s-" but the rest of his sentence is lost when Magnus closes the door forcefully on the minion before turning back to Alec with a wicked grin.

"Good Lord, what does a man has to do to get a bit of privacy around here?" 

Alec gives him a dubious look but still takes the tray before dragging Magnus with him on the couch, his numerous necklaces jingling together happily. Alec refrains from playing with one.

"Pangborn is probably too flustered right now but Morgenstern will hear about this. You know he’s supposed to stay with us. And we're not having sex in here," he says drily. This couch might be the best thing ever, but he has to draw a line somewhere.

Magnus snorts.

"I just wanted to scare Pangborn a bit. He's downright chummy with you these days," Magnus comments, his lip curling up disdainfully. “The guy would fluff your pillow if you asked him.”

"Now there's no reason to hiss, I'm yours." Alec manages to say as he chews on a bite of food.  _ Uh, salmon and tomato sandwich, not bad _ . He swallows quickly and kisses Magnus’ temple reassuringly.

"Darling, even the Queen's corgis know that." Magnus gives him a  _ look _ , something so heavy with intent, love and adoration that it catches Alec's breath, feeling stupid with his mouth hanging open but… That much love unquestionably for him. It's a lot to take,  _ to accept.  _ And the fact is, a few months ago Magnus wasn’t sure of Alec’s feelings, but now he is and jokes about it. A source of joy rather than anguish. They sure came a long way from that disastrous day in Alec’s flat.

"Are you quite finished? I think you've been suitably outrageous for the day," he accuses for lack of words deep enough to encompass his emotions, so banter will have to do. "It's one thing to tease Pangborn about our sex life for sport, but dragging the Queen-"

Magnus gives him a look again, a world away from the first one. This one is made of heat, a deliberate slide of his eyes over Alec's body, slow and appreciative with a smug grin on his lips. Alec's mind blanks. What was he saying?

"You're awful," he says, settling on the truth.

"As in awe inspiring? yes I am, thank you for not-"

Alec kisses him in exasperation and mushy love, food be damned.

_ Awful. _

 

*****

Magnus just loves cuddling.

Problem is, no one was ever that big on doing it with him. Lilith was awkward in expressing her affection and his father… well. His father was a mean bastard.

Later, when he was older and dating, he had been somewhat careful not to appear clingy, unsure what amount of physical affection not sex related he could get away with without his current boyfriend or girlfriend rolling their eyes at him. It was never enough.

They always expected more -not that they were bad people per say (except Camille of course), just not as invested as he was... But with Alexander, a kiss feels like a kiss. A hungry look is just that. Even the press of his hardened cock against Magnus’s thigh doesn't have to escalate. Affection as the goal, not a checklist before sex -the main event of their time together.

In retrospective, no one had just wanted  _ Magnus  _ and the simple comfort of his arms. It pissed him off, but he doesn’t have the time or the mental energy to spare them any real anger. Their loss.

Right now he's got his head pillowed on Alexander's uninjured shoulder, his front plastered to his side and a gun-calloused hand thoughtlessly caressing the small of his back, just there because contact is as necessary as air.

Magnus can relate. This is the most peaceful he’s been since the cabin but like everything else here, it has a timer ticking. Soon Pangborn will come back to make sure he’s back to his computers since Magnus made him go away. He didn’t feel like sharing Alexander’s attention, not when he so direly needed to change his mind after his long morning of hacking.

"I love that," Alec says as he caresses the corner of Magnus' right eye with the tip of his finger. It tickles. "When you laugh, you do it with your body and your eyes, god, they light up and crinkle a bit."

He smiles, lost in whatever he’s seeing and Magnus playfully swats his hand away, embarrassed. He’s not that vain, but he knows his eyes are a bit marked for someone his age.  _ Too much time frowning in front of a screen _ .  _ Glasses might be a must soon _ .

“That just means I'll get wrinkles." Magnus scoffs for good measure, looking away.

"I bet you're going to be hot when you get older.” Alec says, before amending “hotter” and he steals a kiss, quick and gone, but Magnus feels it down to his bones.

Magnus can see the wonder in his eyes, like a kid ready to open a christmas present and that scares the living shite out of him. No one really looked at him like this. His exes saw him all young, savagely handsome and unbelievably smart, to be consumed for a moment. Pleasant. Already fading. Alexander seemed to be looking at everything. His past, present…  _ future _ .

"Planning to be around to check? Might take a while. Decades even,” Magnus asks, feeling a tad too serious and breathless suddenly. Warning bells ring in his head,  _ you’re acting clingy again, stop now! _

Alec kisses the corner of his eye, as soft as his fingertip a moment ago.

"Yeah," he says blunt as ever, with his entire heart shining through his eyes like it’s no big deal. It probably isn’t for him.

Magnus' breath catches for a heartbeat too long and damn, that can't be healthy, can it?

"You really are something else Alexander Lightwood."

Alec shrugs, grinning, and Magnus can't tell if he's teasing or sleepy.

"Right back at ya," he yawns.

Magnus can't wait to spend the rest of his life with this sleepy arsehole that makes his heart grow every time he looks at him.

 

*****

Shit, Alec shouldn’t have complained about being useless, even in the privacy of his head.

The evening had started off as usual, with Pangborn coming back to open the lab door for them, even if he had been a bit stiff, like the man was actually stung by Magnus shooing him away at lunch. Magnus and Alec had made their way back to their suite and quickly showered before putting on the suits that Morgenstern favored for his little dinners, as they were expected at the mansion. They both had dragged their feet though, the half an hour of cuddling on the couch the only time they really had for themselves since the morning.

Not enough by a long shot. Still, Morgenstern had to be suffered.

But what they find in the dinner room isn’t food or anything pleasant: Morgenstern and Verlac are both jacketless, their sleeved rolled up and nose deep in what Alec can only call a war council, an half dozen men and women working around the room on laptops and a few others sitting around the table, listening to their boss with closed off faces. A huge map is laid on the table and Alec frowns at it before linking it to the bastardized version he had worked out in his mind. It’s the training camp.

Morgenstern turns his head toward them, looking annoyed at the interruption before relaxing. Verlac looks sour and something ugly is gleaming in his eyes when he meets Alec’s.

“I’m afraid dinner is postponed,” Morgenstern says as he beckons them closer, gesturing the chairs.

Alec takes a sit across of Magnus, careful not to show how thrilled he feels. This is an attack on the compound, it has to be. Perhaps… perhaps… no, he can even think it too loud.

“What is happening? Magnus asks.

“A group of former associates tried to break the perimeter earlier in the evening. Mr. Bane, take one of those laptops, I need to have a full audit of my bolivian partners’ accounts to see if one of them took money from someone else than me, among other thing,” he orders. “Lightwood, your doctor tell me you’re in decent health, one of the men will take you to a patrol unit.”

“ _ No _ ,” is out of his mouth before he thinks and as quick as that, Morgenstern’s expression turns thunderous and Verlc is pointing a gun to Magnus’ head.

Alec curses himself, his veins filling with molten rage while he forces his hands to stay above the table and as far away from his guns. From the corner of his eyes, he can see that Morgenstern’ minions stopped working and are monitoring the scene in front of them with interest.

"I have to send you in," Morgenstern says again.

"That wasn't the deal," Alec says through gritted teeth, eyes focused on Magnus’.

"I'm going back on it, as you knew I would. And it actually fits your job description of keeping him safe."

"You don't have to do this Alexander," Magnus interjects, voice stubbornly steady.

"The gun on your head would say otherwise," Verlac mocks, pushing the canon of his gun against Magnus’ temple viciously. “He’ll go where we tell him to.”

“I stay with him,” Alec insists.

“Lightwood, I’m going to be frank with you: this little romance is downright adorable and I respect a man that stand by the person he loves, I really do. But right now I need every competent man I can have sweeping the camp to make su-”

Alec is this close to drawing his knife and ripping into Morgenstern’s throat right there when Pangborn stumbles in the room, looking flush and short-breathed. 

“Mr…” he gasps for air. “Mr Morgenstern… your, hum, she said she was…”

“Who said she was my what now?”

Pangborn doesn’t have time to answer as a furious redhead forces her way into the room. Her eyes are red, the skin under them bruised violet from lack of sleep and she looks like she slept in her clothes one time too many. Alec knows her only as the smiling young woman in Jace’s arms on the pictures Izzy sent him at the cabin.

Jace’s wife.

Luke’s daughter.

Clary  _ Morgenstern _ , if only by blood. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from From Russia with love by Matt Monro  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments show appreciation <3
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) and check for updates on my [fic tag](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/tagged/spy!malec)


	5. With the cares of the world far behind us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a while

Clary.

_God she’s short, especially with all the burly, armed men and women surrounding her in here_ ,

Alec thinks dumbly as he stands up (like everybody around the table once Morgenstern does, like a shockwave, except for Magnus and Verlac).

She looks around the room with wide eyes, tears rolling down her face through grime and cakey old foundation, before she settles her gaze on Alec. Her face changes: from furious it turns murderous and Clary runs to him, too fast and too sudden for anyone to stop her -or even think about it. It’s okay. Alec lets it happen, her intent is clear and rolling with the punches is kind of his speciality anyway.

She slaps the ever loving fuck out of him.

Alec sees the shocked expression on Magnus’ face across the table, looking ready to kill the woman, the exact face he tried to conceal after his training with Verlac; a deadly cat setting his sight on an offending mouse. Verlac’s hand, the one holding the gun to Magnus’ head, isn’t steady anymore and slowly going down on the table, his cold eyes narrowing as he shoots bullets to the side of his sister’s head instead. Morgenstern just looks like he’s been struck by lighting -but they’re not that lucky.

And Clary? She’s got something in her eyes that makes Alec’s brain tilt.

Alec holds a hand out to calm Magnus down while he touches his burning cheek with the other. Damn, she’s as strong as she’s small. He barely stops himself from chuckling.

Time picks up again when she goes for seconds and Alec stops her this time, catching her forearm easily before pushing her around to force her arm against her back. She strains against his hold but there is no moving him.

“Release her!” Morgenstern screams, rounding the table.

Alec does, careful, pushing Clary away from him and she freezes as she finds herself face to face with Morgenstern, just a few feet away.

Her father -no, Alec corrects himself, that’s Luke. Morgenstern is nothing else than a sperm donor.

“Clarissa,” he breathes. He looks ready to cry, his façade coming apart by blocks, crumbling away like a ruin, a tentative smile breaking his face. Alec has half the mind to believe it genuine.

“How did she get here?!” Verlac snarls, echoing the questions in Alec’s mind. It’s good the blond is angry, it means the bastard isn’t responsible for his sister’s presence here, he looks genuinely angry and blindsided. Now, he could be faking of course, but Alec’s guts tell him no. So Jace, Jocelyn and Luke might be safe.

Morgenstern snaps out of his trance like state and, without stopping looking at Clary in awe, he asks with a composed voice “Where did you find her?” to Pangborn.

“I was patrolling with my squad to the east gate. She was just outside, arguing with the guards posted there. They were about to call someone when I told them I’ll take her to you,” Pangborn says quickly. Then, like an afterthought he adds, “no signs of the intruders that way, seems they scrammed.”

“So she just showed up at the gates and you morons let her in,” Verlac enunciates each words with venom. He looks like he’s already eviscerating Pangborn in his head (along with the people he has following his mother and sister back in London probably).

“But she’s your-” Pangborns starts, shivering all over under Verlac’s glare.

“I’m sure our security protocols were respected,” Morgenstern interrupts. The _there will be hell to pay if not_ is heavily implied in his tone.

Interesting. Even awestruck by the apparition of his daughter, he stays on point. Alec might hate the man, but he has to admit he’s a formidable monster.

“I had to come,” Clary implores. She sounds tired, whatever stubbornness keeping her afloat running thin, her voice little more than a whisper. Then she turns to Alec again, “This is your fault, you fucking liar!”

_Okay, her stubbornness is doing alright._

Morgenstern puts his hands on her shoulders, putting himself between her and Alec, cutting her from view. She’s that tiny.

“Now now, Clarissa. What happened?” his voice is soft for her (it occurs to Alec he did the same with Madzie a few days ago and his heart aches to know if she’s okay, to make sure she is). From the other side of the room, Verlac glares at them and Alec doesn’t miss how white his knuckles are around the gun he’s still clutching. Magnus looks tense but he’s typing something on the laptop in front of him, quietly. No one seems to pay attention to him, all focused on the Lifetime drama unfolding in front of them.

“Luke and Mum… they’re liars too! And my husband knew and the rest of- they all bloody knew and lied and lied and lied and they _expected_ ,” she nearly chokes on the word, rage taking over and she breathes for a few seconds before continuing, “expected me to be fine with it! ‘Clary dear your father isn’t dead like- like we told you and he’s fucking out there’ and those two,” she points a trembling hand at Alec and then at Magnus, “they told Jace! Every fucking one but me! And then they… they fucking switched sides and…”

_Switched sides?_ Alec’s brain freezes, the rest of Clary’s exhausted rant lost to him. That’s what MI6 thinks happened? That he and Magnus crossed over willingly to Morgenstern and his atrocities? The bastard must have left a trail then, something to incriminate them so people wouldn’t be looking for them to save them. Luke can’t fucking believe that, can he? His siblings must know it’s impossible.

His mother and M on the other hand wouldn't take a risk and burn he and Magnus… shit. That would involve a kill order on sight; other agencies knowing they were fair game; people hunting them even if they escape this hellhole and having to prove their innocence...

When Alec extracts himself out of his morbid thoughts, Magnus looks paler than he did when Verlac had him at gunpoint and he isn’t typing anymore; Clary has fresh tears on her cheeks and Morgenstern is so focused on her he doesn’t react as Verlac forces the riffraff out of the dining room, except for Pangborn.

“-so fast,” Clary is saying, “I was upset and he kept telling me to calm down, that he was going to explain and it would be okay like, like I was a kid! As if he could justify his actions and-” she sobs, the force of it shaking her for a moment, “he tried to hold my hand… I pushed him away and…” she stops.

“There’s a police report backing what she says, plus several news networks covered the pileup,” Verlac calls, eyeing a laptop and still clutching his gun. “Car veered into the other lane out of the blue. Twelve casualties and she’s reported missing…”

“And Garroway?” Morgenstern asks, jaw tensed.

Clary flinches at the name. Alec does the same. _What_.

“Died before the EMTs could arrive,” Verlac says dismissively.

Alec hears the words, can make sense of them on a certain level -individually- but together… no. No.

_No_.

“No!” Magnus shouts, pushing Verlac away from the laptop he’s using so he can look at the report for himself.

Verlac goes very still, empty eyes boring a hole in Magnus’ head and Alec feels the world crashing around him for a second, an eternity -Jesus, he’s on the other side of the room, he won’t be able to stop Verlac if he… but the bastard just glares at Magnus some more and sits back on his chair, propping his feet up on the table. Then he finds Alec’s eyes and mimics shooting Magnus on the back before winking at him.

Distantly, Alec hears Clary repeating “I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t mean to,” in an endless and shaky mantra and Morgenstern takes her in his arms, giving her the hug he’s been waiting for since she was born.

No, Alec’s brain pulse the word, his blood pounding with it in his ears. No. Luke can’t be… he can’t. Not like this. Not at all. No.

No.

“You killed him,” Magnus chokes on fat tears.

“I didn’t-” Clary begins but Morgenstern stops her with a cutting “that’s enough Bane!”

“I didn’t mean to,” she tries again, now sobbing anew and clutching Morgenstern for dear life, while simultaneously looking disgusted by what she’s doing. She’s staring straight at Alec, that something back in her eyes conveying all he needs to know and Alec, again, has to stop himself from laughing.

_God she’s good._

 

*

“Come, you need a good shower and food!” Morgenstern says brightly to his daughter and Magnus refuses to look up, to see the similarities between the two of them, Morgenstern wearing his human mask and Clary… Magnus feels another spike of anger spearing his heart. She killed Luke. She killed him -the fact that it was an accident doesn’t matter. The young woman he met, smiling in Jace’s arms, is no more. She picked the man that terrorised her mother, the man that killed, betrayed, enslaved kids and wants to wage war to the world because her parents wanted to protect her from him.

She killed Luke and and and… Magnus can’t. His brain’s going on and off, trying to reset reality or wake up. Discovering that Verlac had them all under surveillance had been bad but this? This is real and irremediable, set in police report, death certificates and disturbing twitter pictures that bypassers couldn’t stop themselves from taking and bloody posting.

“Father,” Verlac calls, somewhere behind Magnus. “Those intruders are-”

“Not. Now.”

“But-” Pangborn says.

“Do you morons actually need my constant micromanagement and coddling or can you do this one thing by yourselves?" Morgenstern snaps at his minion and his son. Then, as if he realises his audience, he adds, "God, I'm so sorry Clarissa... this isn't how I wanted the two of us to finally meet. Pangborn, pass me her bag. It has been searched? Can’t be too careful with Luke and your mother…”

She mumbles something back but Magnus doesn’t care for straining his ears to hear it. Pangborn springs to give the messenger bag to his boss, eager to please.

Verlac clears his throat, loud and annoyed, but his father just ignores him some more and takes Clary to the back of the mansion, probably to his office -leaving his son behind, Alec and Magnus to cater to him.

Bloody great.

Father and daughter’s departure leaves everyone unnerved and Magnus’ vision blurs and he grips the desk, feeling himself going, pain clutching his lungs, slashing at his throat and ripping it apart.

007 is dead. Clary caused it. Luke is dead and the world thinks he and Alexander defected to Morgenstern’s -what is it? Terrorist organisation doesn’t seem to cut it… A would-be rogue nation? Whatever the correct nomenclature, Magnus wants it teared down and burnt. The little worm he planted in the system earlier when everyone was too shocked by Clary’s arrival will help but the already small advantage is dwarfed by the pain.

007 is dead. His warmth, his kindness, his secrets and hopes and future totalled by a fucking milk truck because his stepdaughter refused to take his bloody hand.

Blindly, Magnus sits down, distantly aware that he is only a chair away from that wretched Verlac and his ever present gun, but Luke is dead and it is hard to worry through the miles and miles of pain -Camille’s barrel suddenly brushes the back of his head, burning hot, like she just killed those poor interns in Balmoral and he flinches away... _from nothing_ , he reminds himself that it’s not there, that she’s not there, that Alec killed her… dead, dead and gone. He’s among demons, he doesn’t have the time to worry about a bloody ghost.

But Luke’s face flashes in his mind, smiling, yet covered in blood.

Grief is such a strange thing and Magnus had his fair share of it and now there’s more, always more, a never ending loop of losing people he loves, of having them reaped from his life. The initial pain is enough to kill, but the brain is vicious enough to render someone mad, refusing to unlearn smiles; keeping dead people included in plans; putting an extra plate on the table; turning around to ask a question to a friend or expecting a joke to be met by a particular laugh -never heard again. And yet the brain refuses to accept, persists in present and future tenses and trips on the past, on the truth…

Is. Will. _Was_. Magnus chokes on the reality of it.

Luke would know how to deal with this. He would have. But he’s dead.

_Luke is dead._

There weren't actual double-os in MI6.

No M, no Q -no bloody 007. Nothing like Fleming had written; but along the years, an agency wide joke had taken roots, blossomed and has yet to rot out of disused.

Decades of mockery had turned to fondness to an official hierarchy that baffled the newbies and ruffled MI5 because they weren't as cool as the agency getting stupidly showy movies about them. Magnus, fifteen and bound in a shady underground parking lot, along his fear, grief and bone shattering anger had thought M off her rockers when she had presented herself as such when they met -he still thinks she a complete loon, for different reasons.

M.Head of MI6. Kidnapping him. Laughable. Straight out of a James Bond movie, except Judie Dench’s character was a cuddly puppy compared to the ice woman Magnus had in front of him.

The entire thing was a joke (and how Magnus had wondered exactly how M had even accepted the moniker, how she hadn't try to get rid of the sensationalist nonsense around her as soon as she took over. She might have and failed. Gallows humour is stronger than a lot of things, Magnus mused).

So there was double-os (no such thing as permit to kill though) even if it wasn't a real thing.

Reality mimicking art, itself wildly guessing at reality.

And in that art, 007 was seemingly immortal. But he really wasn't. An appropriately attractive (for the decade) white guy played him for a few movies and the franchise moved on like nothing was amiss.

At MI6, it was just the same. When a double-o died or (rarely) took their retirement, their unofficial title was passed to a wide-eyed newbie that couldn't believe their luck to be part of something bigger, something old and powerful and that bloody mattered.

Now the same would happen to Luke's 007 insignia. The very thought is sickening and Magnus suspects that it’s the ugly truth behind the silly James Bond antics: forcing people to move on, to have the new faces shoved down their brains, overwriting the old ones (the ones rotting dead in the ground for Queen and country).

Magnus will not forget Luke.

Magnus will not forgive what happened to him or who did it and he will burn this place to the ground as soon as he can.

_You crumble on your own time Bane_ , M had said to him, unkind and sharp, when he lost himself to pain and tears after Lilith’s death. No one had used that new name then, so he had not reacted, not until she whacked him on the leg with her cane.

He refused -refuses- to believe it was sound advice; it’s the kind of thinking that led Alexander to so much pain. Yet he doesn’t have an alternative choice than to desperately clunk to M’s shitty opinion. His time isn’t his own. He takes a breath, hiccuping through it, forces his eyes open and reaches for the nearest laptop.

_You’re Morgenstern’s pet hacker. He won’t forget it even if he’s distracted at the moment. If you don’t perform adequately, Luke won’t be the only one dead._

“Magnus?” Alec calls. His voice sounds tight, foreign and it’s the odd quality of it that pulls Magnus out of his head, that drags him back to the dinner room converted war council.

He had expected his lover to be crushed, he realises violently. But Alec is standing. Pale, troubled, but standing.

Now Magnus knows his Alexander. Had ran his fingers over the jagged pieces of him several times, marveling at the broken edges melted together like glass, so many scars on the surface, hiding so many more underneath. There is no way in hell or earth that Alexander Gideon Lightwood isn’t a mute mess curling on himself right now, forcing his breathing under control because Luke’s death wrecked him.

Alexander never did anything in halves, and that included breaking. When he did, it was in thousands pieces.

But he isn’t.

Tears are spilling softly across his cheeks and Magnus knows immediately they are as fake as Verlac’s hair color because Alec is an ugly crier; a real mess, eyes puffed and snotty nose, cheeks an unflattering red -Magnus knows that better than anyone. His lover is only this tame when he is working a mark over on the field and full on crying would be counterproductive.

But crying a beloved friend? A trusted mentor? _He isn’t_ , Magnus realises, stricken.

“Magnus,” he calls again, this time more insistent, like he is begging.

“ _Magnus_ ,” Verlac parrots meanly. “Jesus, Lightwood get a fucking grip. Pangborn, take him to patrol, Magnus and I have work to do. And get those idiots back in,” he barks, taking his anger for his father on them.

This time Alec doesn’t make a fuss and leaves the room with Pangborn but not before kissing Magnus on the forehead on his way out, rounding the table despite the exasperated and mocking words that Verlac throws their way. Alexander’s faked tears tickle Magnus’ cheeks and his eyes say something that Magnus can't decipher.

“I really don’t know how you can accept that wreck around you, he’s so pathetic,” Verlac comments well before Alec is out of earshot, clearly hoping for a reaction from either of them.

Alec continues to walk out and Magnus opens a new window on the laptop, quickly checking the names and intel on Morgenstern Bolivian’s partners (Magnus highly doubts that Morgenstern sees them as anything beside door-openers. After all, he’s conning them, pretending he’s raising them a battalion of über spies and whatnot. He seriously cannot be upset at being sold out if they learnt his true intention).

“Of course, you’re not better in the whining department, but at least you’re useful,” Verlac continues as the other minions flood the room and take back their places, buzzing like curious bees around sweet gossip. Magnus itches for a rolled newspaper to squash them with (that, or with a polo mallet, he is very good at swinging those and not just on horseback, country clubs being what they are).

“Breaking your nose showed uselessness?” Magnus mutters, unable to keep the barb inside. The man repels him.

Verlac laughs and the unexpected sound startles Magnus. It’s like a rotting birdsong, twisted and perverse.

“Oh Kitty, you got some claws on you,” the piece of shit says, charming in a way not unlike Camille, “you should play with me one day soon.”

_Perhaps I’ll rip your throat out, you bloody degenerate_ , Magnus thinks so loud it’s a miracle no one hears. From the corner of his eyes, he sees one of Morgenstern’s minions making a barfing face at another. Yeah, me too.

 

To Magnus surprise, he doesn’t find anything damning against Morgenstern’s contacts in the Bolivian government (well, except for them taking bribes and intel from him). No extra money coming from a suspicious source, nothing that seems out of the ordinary.

He tells Verlac so, hoping to be freed but the man just shrugs and orders Magnus to oversee the research on the commando that breached the perimeter, including making background checks on the one that were IDed post mortem with their face-rec program. He could have done that himself Magnus supposes, or any goon in the room really, but Verlac seems to enjoy forcing his proximity on Magnus.

They’re all burnt out agents. MI6, NSA, DGSE, a few SVR, _twelve_ CIA agents supposedly missing in action and some others. A collection of traitors from all around the world that worked for Morgenstern in the last two decades before finding a new master and storming the proverbial castle for them.

Magnus glances at Verlac, who’s busy texting or writing an essay about how unfair his white sociopath life is on his phone.

_Did you attack the compound?_ Magnus wants to ask. _Did you hope that they got to your father and kill him for you so you could take over?_ Because Magnus can’t see who else could have out-bid Morgenstern for those traitors’ -no, loyalty isn’t the word- muscles; and as Seneca put it, _is fecit cui prodest_.

Now the question is, does Morgenstern already suspects? After he learnt that Verlac was stalking Jocelyn and Clary this would be an easy deduction…

 

*

By the time Alec makes it back to the suite, muscles aching and smelling of foul smoke and blood and sweat, Magnus is there, sunken to the nose in steamy water, the bathtub full to the brim and clothes haphazardly thrown around the room. He’s make-up free of course but the crazy hair curling around his forehead has a glittery shine and that makes Alec smiles; his numerous necklaces are still around his neck, hanging like so many arrows pointing down his chest, vapor dancing above the water.

He’s a vision.

Alec stands in the doorway, letting himself savor the knowledge that his lover is fine -despite spending the night attending to that fucking Verlac. Alec had been on edge the moment Magnus was out of his sight, nerves rattled by a thousand worst case scenarios. The illusion of serenity is shattered when he spots moisture welling in Magnus’ eyes, the continuous tears lost on his wet face.

Alec realizes at once that Magnus didn’t get Clary’s presence. That he _believed_. He’s mourning someone that isn’t dead, someone who’s coming for them.

The heart is a weapon, Morgenstern prove that to them using Alec’s life as a bargaining chip to secure Magnus’ cooperation. But Clary… she is Morgenstern’s idea of a better life: the untouched past and bright future he believes has been robbed from him, grown into a perfect daughter. Hope, perhaps, that he isn’t such a monster and a chance to be a father again.

Blindsiding at its finest. And Magnus had brought it too, the tears and the exhaustion and the paper trail despite knowing all those could be faked. But again, when you’re expecting something horrible to happen, you don’t look too closely at it when it does, you’re too caught up in the pain.

Alec gets closer, trying not to be too invasive of Magnus’ space, leaving him to dictate the pace. His pain is real, even if its object is a lie. He kneels in front of the bathtub using a discarded jacket not to hurt his knees on the marble.

All his training tells him that the goal -freedom- is more important than Magnus’ anguish. It’s a dangerous thing to do: the wrong reaction when he learns the truth and it might shatter Morgenstern’s illusion that Clary’s is here because she needs her sociopathic and biological father to hug her. The woman has been sent after him and her cover has to be maintained at all cost. Years ago… no, that’s a lie; he would still do it, still use marks like props and pawns, engineering situations like this one to his (and MI6) advantage.

But not to the detriment of Magnus’ sanity. Never.

So he puts a careful hand on the rim of the bathtub and asks “want me to wash your hair?”

Magnus blinks -new tears get lost on his face- and snaps out of whatever headspace he was, taking in Alec’s presence. His breathing picks up, his shoulders slouch and he looks so lost and sad, and relieved too that Alec has to wrestle the need to tell him right now that Luke’s alive to reassure him and lift that heavy weight from him and damn be the mics, the cameras and the consequences.

Magnus grabs at Alec’s hands like at a lifeline, eyes roaming his face, his chest, his arms, checking for new bruises and blood, Alec is sure. There are some, but he’s okay.

“I heard an huge explosion,” he accuses, doubtlessly worried sick for Alec.

With reasons. _I really need to stop doing this to him._

“I’m fine. For real. Some trouble but I’m okay.” He takes Magnus’ hands in his, properly, holding them with care, massaging the knuckles with his thumbs. “Nothing a shower and rest won’t solve.”

Magnus swallows, septic as always about Alec’s honest assessment of his health but he nods minutely, too tired, too ragged to argue.

“What happened?”

Alec winces. “Went with a patrol to check the grounds for strays enemy combatants that might have been still roaming around.” Grunt work really.

_Pangborn had driven him to a checkpoint and handed him military fatigues to replace his three piece suit, an M16A1 and had dropped him in the care of a patrol. Clary and her deception were loud in his head but he had shut it down, unwilling to get shot or something because he was thinking two paces ahead and not giving the guns that might be pointed in his direction_ right now _enough attention. So he centered himself, mind racing through the boot camp map laid on the dinner table, adjusting the one he had made in his head. Not perfect, but getting there._

“We received a call that comms were cut from the eastern warehouses, which were on lockdown since the initial assault and we went there to check them out for rats,” Alec continues, warming up to his subject.

_The team leader had not shied away from publicly singling out Alec and telling him in a clear american accent that if he breathed wrong he was dead meat. Alec had nodded, strangely reassured by the straightforward callousness of the woman and being threatened. That he could deal with._

But in views of Magnus’ current state, it’s probably better not to mention that bit.

“The warehouses were as big as football fields and there were three of them-”

“Were?” Magnus interjects, the corner of his mouth rising a bit.

Alec snorts. “Were,” he confirms, pushing his hand in his sweaty hair and Magnus frowns at his empty hand before nervously playing with his necklaces. “We rounded them, to check for forced entry, you know? The usual. Second warehouse had one of its loading baies blasted open with a controlled explosion, the rest was untouched.”

“You went in.”

“Yep, after the team leader posted two men sentries around. I think it was a bad move, it left us pretty short staffed inside but she didn’t listen. So we shut down the light, night vision goggles on… the whole nine yards, going through the warehouse’s alleys by way too small teams.”

“What happened?” Magnus asks, losing patience, ignoring that Alec is spinning a tale and not  truthfully relaying the facts. They might be the only ones in the bathroom but Morgenstern has ears everywhere.

“Did I forget to mention that those warehouses were full of weapons and explosives?” Alec tells him. When the team leader had, Alec had thought _I can work with that_ , plans forming in his head, lightning fast. “It was so quiet for a while. You used to chit chat so much on the comms, I forgot how it was to deal with danger in silence.”

It’s Magnus’ turn to snort, even if he doesn't comment further.

_Alec’s veins were full of adrenaline, muscles tensing without outlet, until the all too familiar staccato of a M16 unloading rang throughout the warehouse, shouts of “Contact! Contact! We’ve got a moving target across alley C!” before a second gun echoed the first, closer to Alec’s position, but no one called it in._

“They found us first,” he says ominously.

_Alec had stopped dead in his tracks and had made a fist to signal the rest of his group to stop too, blood and fear and something savage singing in his ears. They had made him go first, unwilling to have an armed prisoner guarding their six. The fact they had thought he wasn’t dangerous to them in the front was hilarious and Magnus, had he been in his ear, would have verbally covered them in red pen._

_It had been time to be proactive._

“Someone was waiting for us in the shelves,” he says to Magnus, gripping the hand he’s still holding to (hopefully) signal a lie. “Got shot in the bulletproof vest. The rest wasn’t so lucky.”

_Alec had quickly turned, shooting his three teammates at head level before shouting in a breathless voice “we’re under heavy fire in alley F! Men down, I repeat men down!” shooting around in small burst, reloading fast and looting the bodies he made for grenades and C4 charges, before using one of the rolling ladders to take the higher ground on a shelf._

“It was mess,” Alec continues.

_Punctual burst of light and shots reverbated as he progressed on top of the shelf, fixing C4 on huge explosive grates. The comms were saturated with calls for help, position checks that stayed unanswered. Alec, looking down, spotted a two-man show progressing slowly up an alley and from that height it would have been impossible to determine it they were Morgenstern’s goons or the enemy combatants they were hunting if not for the chatter in his ear letting him know those were part of his patrol squad (he didn’t want to kill the other guys just yet, the chance they might be his -_ truly his _\- too high… the night they attack, Clary gets here? Yeah, Alec wasn’t shooting at any of them before he got to the bottom of that)._

_So he dropped a grenade on Morgenstern’s minions, jumping across the alley to the next shelf and the next after that to get safe._

_Ish._

_The explosion rattled everything and a second one nearly had Alec down the shelf… he only caught himself by pure luck before he splashed on the cement floor, dead. Arms burning, he scaled back on top of the shelf, relishing the panic his little stunt caused, screams filling the air and the comms, creating the perfect environment for Alec to disguise his actions._

“Alec?” Magnus calls, worried lines deep in on his face.

“Nothing… just. Did you find out who those people were?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

_One of them had actually got the drop on him, shooting him but the bullet had been stopped by his bulletproof vest before Alec had knocked the gun away and had nearly get gutted by a combat knife. Alec had no choice but to fight hard and dirty and before he could find a way to calm his attacker down enough to non verbally ask him if he was MI6 (not that it was possible, but Alec still had tried to think of something) he shot the guy with his sidearm in the thigh and took out his balaclava to find a face he hadn’t seen since his third birthday._

_Hodge Starkweather. A double-o, friend of his parents, follower of Morgenstern and disappeared for years. He was older, face marked by more than his forty something._

“Yeah. People that used to worked for Morgenstern,” Magnus tells him. “Lots of different agencies -some MI6. After Cl-” Magnus swallows and tries again, “after she went to sleep, Morgenstern came back. He bent my ear about them and their recent deffection for a few hours.”

Alec nods. He suspected as much but confirmation is good. He’s more worried by the anger in Magnus’ voice. One more reason to tell him the truth.

_He had announced his catch on the comms, playing good soldier, and the team leader had ordered him to drag his prisoner back to the entrance. Once he was well outside he triggered the charges he placed, provoking a massive explosion that had knocked him and everyone outside down, the fire propagating to the warehouse next to it, burning bright bright brighter, the screams of the few survivors forcing a smile on Alec’s face._

_Less goons and weapons for Morgenstern._

Alec tells a shortened version to Magnus. “They were the _death before capture_ kind of commando, whole warehouse exploded… I got outside but lots of people didn’t. At least we got one of them alive.”

Magnus shrugs, unconcerned by the life and death of their captors.

_Alec had made himself useful, helping a second patrol get the bodies they could reach out of the blast zone, checking for vitals and, when it was possible, discreetly choking goons that were still breathing._

_As he dragged the last of the goons away from the blaze with an other one’s help, away from his rightful death, he comforted himself in the knowledge that while he was saving some of them right now, their next encounter with the grim reaper wouldn't be cut short. He just wanted them dead, meeting the divinity of their choice for a swift judgement followed by quality suffering -working for Morgenstern owed them that much._

_Saving some scums had been a necessity anyway: witnesses to his actions, reluctant and suspicious as they may be, will provide a believable smoke screen. The perfect illusion of efficiency covering the fact he’s the one that killed everyone in that warehouse as well as destroyed an impressive (and expensive) stockpile of weapons, setting Morgenstern’s operation back drastically._

Revolution needs banking _, Morgenstern had say. Well, the man was down a few million pounds now. A good day at the office, all told._

_Then the team leader had taken her helmet off, and peeled back her balaclava carefully, minding the nasty burn she had on the side of her neck. Alec choked._

_“Good job in there capturing a live one,_ froggy _,” she said, before coughing on smoke._

_Her hair was different this time. In Cabo, it had formed a pretty halo around her brown face, curls waving in the warm wind. Now, it was braided in cornrow so she could put on her MICH helmet on and she looked deadly in the fiery light, M16 strapped to her chest and tac gear on._

_He had not dared acknowledging her too much. What was the CIA agent he met and nearly died with in Cabo here for? Was she working for Morgenstern all along? Or was she undercover?_

_“And thanks for saving my life,” she added, smirking. To an outsider’s eyes, she would have appeared mocking, but to Alec knew better. “Maia,” she said, presenting her gloved hand to him._

_He took it, unsure still, and they shook, the small prickly thing in her palm passing to his._

_He nodded. “Don’t think I did it willingly,” he retorted, giving the change._

_There was more than one fox in the chicken coop tonight and Morgenstern was to busy hugging one and calling her_ daughter _to realize._

“And?” Magnus asks.

Alec blinks, mind focusing on Magnus’ concerned face and away from the microchip Maia had gave him, secreted away in his boot. He’ll give it to Magnus tomorrow, it’s an headache for another day.

“And nothing, I just got back. I’m gonna wash your hair,” Alec announces.

Magnus frowns, confused by the change but nods his agreement.

It’s a slow process, sitting on the bathtub’s edge, working a thick lather of shampoo in his hands, the sweet scent masking his own sweaty musk, pushing them into Magnus’ lovely hair, dying at the domesticity, at what he wants after this is over and organizing what he must say.

He rubs at Magnus’ temple with the tips of his fingers for a minute and then, gently, using the longer hair to cover his finger in case anyone is watching closely he taps _do you understand?_ in morse.

Magnus straightens his spine, nudging his head against Alec’s hand, like a cat demanding more.

_Keep your face straight_ , Alec says silently, _hide under the water if you must_.

Magnus sniffles but sinks deeper in the bathtub, water just under his nose.

_Luke’s alive and Clary’s conning Morgenstern_ , Alec taps against Magnus’ head.

Magnus’ reaction is less subtle than Alec hoped for but again, he’s the one that was trained for deceit. Magnus’ hand hits the bathtub’ wall, hard, and he gets away from Alec, going to the other side, overflowing water everywhere in his haste, looking at him widely.

“Did I hurt you?” Alec asks, real concern sipping in the subterfuge.

“Yeah,” Magnus answers, searching his face. “You pulled too hard.”

But his face says a lot more than grief: hope, pain, doubt and hope again, mixing together; taking over in the sharp arch of a brow; the tense flex of his jaw and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple; the sudden slackness of his lips when he exhales and looks so far away, mind caught up in Union Jack draped coffins and back here again, tethered by Alec’s revelations but still overwhelmed.

Alec nods before saying, “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry this is so fucked up. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Again. Sorry, sorry, a thousand times sorry.

“You smell so bad,” Magnus rightly accuses, mouth twisting, throat working against whatever he really need to say, masquing his inner turmoil the best he can.

“I smell like Axe’s idea of a manly man.” They can banter all night like this. They did it for hours, days, years, even before kissing. Even before falling in love.

Magnus huffs and for a second, he smiles, weak and bone deep tired and Alec’s heartbeat picks up. When Magnus chokes on a sudden sob and the tears come falling down again, he can only watch, hands gripping the edge of the bathtub as strongly as if it was Morgenstern and Verlac’s throats.

“C’mon, rinse your floppy hair, I’ll wash my stink away,” he proposes, unsure Magnus wants to be touched right now. “Then we can sleep.”

Try to. Exhaustion is a strange, unsatisfying kind of sleep.

Magnus breathes nosily, in and out, in and out and says “okay”, soft and small and grateful.

When Alec gets up from the bathtub’s edge and walk past to the shower Magnus grabs at his hand, tugging Alec down and rests his forehead against his, sharing a few breaths together.

“I love you,” he whispers, as he quickly taps _thank you for telling me_ on his hand.

Alec feels himself smiling despite the night. The week. Despite everything.

“I love you too.”

 

*

Magnus and Alexander are forced to wake up at the ungodly hour of eight-something, despite the fact that Magnus was promised a day off earlier in the week by Morgenstern himself. A day off he bloody earned, a hundred times over.

But a change of plans is in order and Alexander courageously leaves their warm bed to investigate the insistant knocking with a sour expression on his face. Magnus had clutched onto him at first, refusing to let him go and fuck this… but Alec had sighed and said _Babe, let me get out of bed_ in a tired tone that left Magnus’ ears raw and Magnus had to obey, because they were prisoners and he didn’t have a choice and he couldn’t forget that. That doesn’t stop him feeling robbed -he might love the sight of that magical boxer-clad arse in motion, he rather stay in bed spooning it for dear life.

_Alec can’t be dead or playing around with explosives if he’s cuddling with me_ , Magnus muses. God, Alec just might, he’s pretty good at multitasking.

Magnus snuggles his pillow harder, a poor replacement for Alexander’s warm body and exhales.

He’s okay. Last night was a sickening rollercoaster of emotions, but he’s okay -he thinks. There is still a healthy dose of scepticism in him though: it’s so easy this con, so miraculous… he’s still grieving for Luke, still rattled by the idea of his friend, dead. Still angry at Clary for going to Valentine… Alexander wouldn’t lie to reassure him, but what if he’s wrong? He feels unsteady, reality shifting around him… Oh, he heard lies plenty of times, but he usually was the one crafting them for Alexander to use. Being the victim isn’t great and Magnus has a new sympathy for the people being played now.

Alexander comes back a few minutes later, face a mess: he’s frowning but one corner of his pretty mouth is upturned in a confused half smile.

“What was that about?” Magnus slurs from his pillow, before yawning loudly. He glances at his nightstand, eyes going from that bloody earpiece he's not putting on until his wristband forces him to (day-off hours seem to be in place at least) to the Balmoral snowglobe. God, that thing had been a frustrating experiment and a constant battle not to shatter the damn thing against a wall.

“Short staffed after last night’s… events,” Alexander says cautiously as he climbs back in bed. He sounds smug anyway and Magnus would bet his entire wardrobe back in London that Alexander has something to do with those warehouses going _boom_. Blessingly, he settles in Magnus’ arms and groans, wiggling his arse against Magnus’ front to settle comfortably and adds, “they need me to take care of some of the kids this afternoon.”

Ah. That explains the ‘ _should I be pleased about this?_ ’ smile/frown combo. An afternoon with the kids would ensure good treatment for them. But he would have to play by Morgenstern’s rulebook, and they both know what that involves. Magnus can see the dilemma.

“And me? Am I needed anywhere?” Magnus asks. He wants to sleep for a thousand years and cuddle. Cuddle for a thousand year.

“Nope. Free day for you… Pangborn gave us his condolences,” Alexander says with the proper level of sadness and anger. God. If Alexander had not tell him the truth about Luke, Magnus would have believed his tone in heartbeat -and believed the rest. Thank fuck he told him… Magnus doesn't think he would have forgive him if he had lied, even for the sake of a plan. That kind of lie, of deception, of pain, it’s too big to accept.

They are a team, partners. Lies don’t have a place between them.

“Hope you told him where to shove it,” Magnus yawns again. Sleeping didn’t do much for his exhaustion, hence the need for a thousand years long nap.

“Yeah. I need to be gone by noon, though.”

“We can sleep ‘till then,” Magnus decides. “I’ll even go with you perhaps?” and perhaps meet that Madzie girl Alec told him about.

“I like that plan,” Alec says, kissing Magnus’ hand. “Very much.”

And Alec chooses that moment to pass something prickly to Magnus, hidden under the cover. It’s rectangular and the size of a microchip.

_It is a microchip_ , Magnus realizes and Alec begins to type in morse against his skin.

_Cabo CIA agent here. Don’t know what it does._

Well, there goes Magnus’ day off. It’s better this way perhaps. Keeps him focused on the goal and the reality of the situation.

So. More sleep -they need it- and then separation (again. Magnus is finding it harder and harder every time it happens and he can’t have that, can’t turn this codependent of Alexander -of anyone really. They’re a team, sure; they love each other, obviously, but he’s still him and that can’t change, he won’t lose himself in Alexander). And he needs to find a way to access a laptop now… which might be easy if the little worm he released in the system last night under Morgenstern’s nose is making its way through the servers, making everything a little too warm, disturbing cooling protocol, causing outages at the photovoltaic power station that provides the boot camp with electricity… a little worm burrowing deeper and deeper in the apple, turning fresh fruit and neat coding to rot, zeros to ones and ones to zeros.

One can do a lot when handed an all access laptop in the confusion; Clary’s arrival did have an impact on the room. Magnus’ fingers were already on the keyboard with just the foundation of an idea, marvelling at the different options the servers opened to him. He had known he wouldn’t have enough time for something big, but he could force the doors for him by wrecking stuff Morgenstern would ask him to repair. Magnus’ heart was beating hard, frantic the entire time he was typing, scared to death he would be caught. He had not, as Verlac’s eyes were glued to his sister.

But for now, sleep.

A thousand years of it, beginning with four hours.

 

*

“It occured to me that we attended the Academy together, you’re only a year younger than me,” Magnus murmurs into Alec’s neck.

“Hmm, what of it?” Alec questions back, attention divided by Magnus’ soft breath on his skin. But he used to wonder about that sometimes, in the dark nights he was too weak -no, not too weak, too _alive_ \- to fight his feelings for his handler. A world of possibility, what if, what if, turning in his head, begging for a do over.

“Nothing. But I would have hit on you so hard my darling.”

Alec can feel Magnus smirking. He shivers and, without too much faith, checks the time on his wristband. A quarter to noon. Just enough time for a quick shower and a quicker jog to the building Pangborn gave him directions to. No time for he and Magnus...

“I would have valiantly rebutted you… until I yielded,” he acknowledges. He had been more stubborn at 17, but he wouldn’t have had to fight against years of traumatizing experiences and fucked up defence mechanism. God, they could have been amazing, right of the start. “Did you go to Izzy’s big halloween party? You were a senior then, weren’t you?” he asks, furiously curious about the missed opportunity -he can afford to skip a shower and he runs fast anyway.

“The one you were dressed in Spock and Izzy showed me pictures off? No, sadly M had me visit the SIS building that week,” Magnus says, voice strangely hollow under a flimsy cover of cheerfulness.

“Oh,” Alec answers carefully. “She really had grand plans for you then.” They don’t let anyone in there for a week long visit at eighteen. Alec had not so much been invited to visit as received his marching orders, and only after he completed his SBS training.

Magnus huffs, hot breath tickling against Alec’s skin pleasantly. He wishes he could afford to be late or to not go all together and just stay.

“Believe me, I would have rather been at your sister’s party.”

“So you could have seduced me in a corner?” Alec jokes, letting the haunting tone of Magnus’ voice go for now. Magnus would have elaborated if he truly wanted to and they don’t have time, damn it.

“I would have, don’t you doubt it,” Magnus giggles, before blowing a giant raspberry on his neck, effectively diverting Alec’s worried mind somewhere else.

For a few seconds, a minute, never enough, they kiss. Then Alec braces himself and stops, breathing in Magnus’ disappointed groan and kisses his cheeks, the tip of his nose.

“See you tonight,” he says.

“ _You better_.”

 

*

Pangborn leads him in a drab classroom and Alec is surprised to see the group of kids he is assigned to. It’s a heterogeneous mix of ages and not what he expected; the “class” he went with a few days ago with Verlac was full of four to five-year-olds.

But today, teens sit at awkward angles at their desks, trying painfully to look older than they are, forcing nonchalance and danger vibes out of their attitude, falling short. While those are mostly silent, the younger kids run around in what appears to be a needlessly violent and complex game of tag. All told, there are 21 one of them in the classroom (Alec notices the windows are barred, prison style… not auspicious at all).

“Uh,” he says. Alec had not been surrounded by kids since he had been one, and that was a lifetime ago.

Some of the teens straighten their backs, a bit curious as they frown at him and Pangborn, others get up like freaky jack-in-a-box, standing to attention like good little soldiers, the obvious soldiers in training. Alec winces, remembering the drive to do so all the time around teachers and, later, superior officers. The little ones, bless them, don’t notice their presence, too busy negotiating embassy immunity with the _you’re it_ kid as his pursuers shout it’s not fair.

Alec can’t help but notice Madzie’s absence, her neat braids nowhere in the room. He really wanted to see that she was okay and not have to rely on Morgenstern’s empty promises.

“They’re the best we have,” Pangborn informs him somewhat proudly. “The rest are confined to their dorms until the rats from last night are all accounted for. Recruits!” he shouts, forcing everyone’s attention on them. “This is Mr. Lightwood, he’s going to be your instructor for the day. Think of it as a meet and greet with a spy.”

Pangborn then does something Alec has to restrain himself to not react badly to: the minion claps him on the shoulder, friendly smile on his face, before leaving the room. It’s good to know working him over is well underway, but that barely tempers the raw need to snap his neck.

The kids look expectantly at him, expression going from carefully blank to nervous and finally, when he doesn’t say anything, to annoyed.

“Uh,” Alec says again. What the hell is he supposed to do? “At ease. And sit down.”

“Are you a real spy?” a small boy asks from the back, raising his hand.

Alec nods, and adds “I was. I’m retired.” Not that the world is taking any notice or letting him take a fucking nap but....

“But you’re not old,” another one remarks, no raising her hand at all, frowning up and down at him.

“Spies don’t usually last too long, especially the ones that aren’t under deep, long term cover. The more missions you do, the more you’re known by foreign intelligence agencies, especially with today’s tech and CCTV coverage. Older spies are usually sent to investigate matters that don’t require total secrecy, or as decoys,” he explains to her, thinking of the numerous agents that will never reach that point, too dead to be used as bait.

“Did you kill people?”

Alec slowly nods at he the kid who asked -and who can’t be older than twelve. It’s always a question that interns and trainees ask, always with misplaced admiration and that spark in their eyes that Alec had himself, so bloody long ago... And little kids fed by Morgenstern's propaganda are just the same. The need to knock his head against a wall increases.

_I shouldn’t be surprised._

He anticipates the next question and says “I don’t know how many. A lot. Bad people. Terrorists, traitors, enemy spies-” _the people you might grow up into being_ , he realizes. The sick feeling burns his throat and he swallows, a part of him wishing he could drown that line of thought in as much whisky as possible. He bites his tongue at the nasty reflex: _no more alcohol_ , he promised himself. No more. “The kind of people we can do without,” he adds after a long silence, staring at a wall. He doesn’t mention the civilians that got caught up in the blast radiuses. Wrong place, wrong time. A nightmarish guilt for another night. “So the other day, I learnt that some of the younger kids were shown guns,” he begins, blinking away the image of Madzie's little hand bleeding, “which of you actually know how to use one?”

Might as well do what Morgenstern asked him to do and it’s on bloody topic.

They all raise their damn hands. All of them. Twenty one kids, from five to fifteen. One, too small to reach Alec’s knee, is actually raising both his hands with enthusiasm, like Alec asked who wanted _pudding_. Alec wants to throw up.

“You’re going to depress yourself with questions like these,” Magnus says in his ear. Alec startles, shocked, and even looks behind him, expecting Magnus’ devastating self to be there.

“What the-”

“Earpiece, genius. And I might have peeked through your classroom’s cameras.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Alec asks, looking up for help that will never come, refusing to look for cameras and give Magnus the satisfaction.

“No, but guess what? My day off was cancelled too! The servers are acting crazy and, wait for it, having a mean fever!” he announces testily, and Alec hears something getting kicked on the other side of the line. Uh. Magnus sounds terminally furious and Alec bits his tongue, because his lover might not be a spy, but he manages lying pretty well. There is no way the servers having trouble has nothing to do with Magnus tinkering with that laptop last night when no one was looking. “So me and some dumbasses -yeah, I’m talking about you Floyd- are trying to find the cause.”

“And that translates to you speaking to me right now… how?” This is trouble waiting to happen and Alec has his plate full at the moment.

“I told Morgenstern I wanted to speak to you. I think he finds my need of reassurance you’re okay and not dead somewhat amusing,” Magnus explain, bitter.

In the classroom, the kids are looking at Alec with confusion, so he points at his earpiece and tells them it’s his handler talking to him.

“Yeah, me handling you now is much more satisfying than before, I’ll say.”

Alec can _hear_ Magnus winking, his suave voice ringing in his ear. He rolls his eyes but he’s smiling -he has always been too affected by it, too incapable of defending himself against it (or really wanting to).

“Shouldn’t you be working on that server problem?” he evades, minding his audience.

“I am darling, but I’m not an engineer or a maintenance technician, there is only so much I can do beside looking at the coding to find glitches or viruses. We don’t even know if it’s a software or a hardware problem yet. Hell, perhaps those idiots that attacked the camp last night accessed the system and infected it somehow.”

“Okay. Can I continue this-” the right word for what he is doing with the kids eludes him so he stops speaking, passing a hand over his face, scrubbing at his eyes.

“Sure sure. I just wanted to hear you,” Magnus says, so earnest it takes Alec’ breath away.

“Uh, yeah, I, okay,” Alec stammers. Jesus. Magnus really is something else.

Magnus just laughs, clearly delighted by his effect on his lover.

 

The not-lecture continues, Alec wincing every time he hears one of the kids say something that no child on earth should know about.

He reminds the kids about basic gun safety and dives into the subtlety of applying those to spying (something that is more likely to earn him brownie points with Morgenstern in the _cooperate or die_ departement).

“And that’s how you can see if the person has no experience with guns: they have no trigger discipline. The index should always be along the frame over the trigger until you’re ready to fire. People that place it on the trigger weren’t properly trained and are not a joke, _they’re a risk_. Same goes with waving the gun around. Barrels are pointed in a safe direction -relatively speaking. Your mark keeps on behaving like it’s a harmless toy in their hands, you take that from them as soon as possible. Of course, if your mark goes around telling you they’re, I don’t know, a teacher or something but they use proper gun safety, you take note of that. They might be more than meets the eyes.”

“In movies, they all do what you said not to do,” a lanky teen asks, nose on his tablet, bored. They all relaxed when they realized that Alec had no intention of maintaining a strict order in the classroom.

“Yeah, in movies they also have spies that tell everyone their real names, so I wouldn’t put too much weight on them. Dropping your empty mags looks great on screen, but anyone with a ounce of training knows not to do that. On that note, reload at every opportunity, not just when you’re dry. You never know when you’re going to need that bloody gun. Only someone raised on Hollywood would make those mistakes. Those tells are in everything we do and speak loudly of inexperience or lack of training. For some of you, spotting the tells, adding them up in your head, it will be the difference between death and successfully completing your assignment.”

He lets that sink in, sees some kids, the ones that were obviously told they would be spies someday, nodding seriously as they write it down.

“Now guns are not supposed to be something you deal with often. If you’re resorting to gunpoint diplomacy, it means you failed as a spy. It’s all about infiltration and talking your way into rooms, of sizing a mark between one heartbeat and the next and turning yourself into what they need.”

Like Clary had done, coming here all rugged and hysteric, a good story backing her, looking like a good hug would do her wonders. Perfect bait for Morgenstern; his little baby daughter, looking helpless and needing a dad. Obviously Luke and his wife have taught her a thing or two about social engineering.

Magnus laughs in the comms, loudly. Alec knew he was still in his ear (he heard him muttering to himself and mocking the people that were with him more than once) but if he actually got authorization to keep that channel opened is anyone’s guess and Alec’s future trouble.

“Oh boy, you did not just say that! _Self burn_ , darling.”

Alec ignores him and continues “or someone else can fuck up, ie your handler.” It’s a low blow of course, but interns exist and so does the Red Thief and its glitches.

“You take that back!” Magnus roars in Alec’s ear.

“I’m not pointing fingers, I’m teaching,” he says, grinning at a camera, hopeful that Magnus is watching.

A girl who's been quiet as a mouse since the beginning suddenly raise her hand, a faint blush on her face, trying hard not to look embarrassed as she asks “what about sleeping your way into rooms? One of our instructors said it was very likely to happen.”

The younger kids look confused (at east the ones still paying attention) but the teens know what she’s talking about, the unease spreading on some faces, fake bravado on others and inevitably a boy wolf whistle, but Alec quickly shuts him down by glaring at him.

On the comms, Magnus doesn’t comment. But he stops verbally eviscerating a technician after the question, not so subtly waiting for Alec to say something.

Alec forces himself to be calm, reminding himself that Clary’s just the tip of the MI6’s plan, that the CIA is here, that Magnus did whatever he did to the servers (god, he hopes). That they’re all going to be saved, bloody hell. That those kids won’t end up throwing up in hotel bathrooms after one too many round of sex with a mark, hating themselves, hardening themselves, objectifying themselves. Like he did. So, instead of screaming his lungs out, he tell the class that “yes, sleeping with someone to get intel is a possibility.”

The girl, the one who asked in the first place, looks devastated for a few seconds and then nothing: her face turns carefully blank, the tension in her shoulders eases and she nods to Alec like nothing happened.

_It’s like looking in a mirror_ , Alec thinks, heart breaking.

Suddenly, a guitar begins to play on the PA speaker.

_There's a man who leads a life of danger_

_To everyone he meets he stays a stranger_

_With every move he makes another chance he takes_

_Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow..._

“Magnus!” Alec shouts over the music.

“What? This was getting ugly. I used to play that song on repeat when you were insufferable -which was always by the way,” Magnus says defensively.

_Secret Agent Man_ continues to play, leaving the entire class bemused and the little kids giggling.

“How can you even do that?”

“You don’t want to know,” Magnus answers in a conspiratorial tone.

Alec sighs, reluctantly impressed, if worried.

Then the song dies out, at the time the lights flicker and Alec worries for a second they’re going to explode. The power stabilises and as the comms are reestablished, Magnus is in full overlord mode, ordering his minions about and the need to be there to watch and enjoy it is strong.

“What’s up with the electricity?” a kid asks.

“Power station is having trouble,” Alec shrugs. Worrying the kids is unnecessary.

Then his eyes find the flatscreen on the side of classroom and he bites his lips, a dumb idea nudging at his brain. Hell, he’ll find a way to justify it to Morgenstern later if the man asks.

“Hey Magnus? What’s the coolest spy movie there is?”

Magnus stops his quickly fired demands and takes a second before absently answering “Kingsman, why?”

“Seriously?”

“Colin Firth is a monument and the rag-to-riches one isn’t hard on the eyes either.”

“I said funny, not most likely to give you a hard on,” Alec chasitizes him under his breath.

“Now no need to be jealous, I’m a one-spy-at-a-time kinda guy. Plus you asked.”

“Yeah, for the kids.”

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose the whole shoot the dog might not be age appropriate.”

Alec gives a look at his group of kids, at the hard edges he can see on them already, “With this bunch? I’m not sure they would even flinch. Also there are a lot more inappropriate stuff in that movie.”

“Well, Spy Kids might do. And where are you going to find that movie anyway?”

“I was thinking, since you’re apparently comfortable hacking the comms and broadcasting music on it, you could do the same with one of the smart tv so I can stop talking about killing people with five-year-olds.”

“ _I’m eight!_ ” a little girl peeps in, indignant.

Alec nods to her, impressed. “Five-year-olds and up,” he corrects himself.

“I’ll see what I can do darling. Might take a while with the mess here.”

Some good for the morale movie is in order. Alec will write it off as teaching material if he has to.

 

Three full hours later and Alec is _done_. He’s got his fill of children to last a decade and the afternoon isn’t even over. On top of being bored, the kids are now angry they couldn’t get through Spy Kids 2 because of a long power outage and Pangborn looking appalled that Alec had been streaming a kid comedy to his little murderers-in-training.

“What are you making them do?” Magnus asks, sounding tired.

“I don’t know,” Alec confesses, hiding his face in his hands and muffling his giggling. “The kids are playing tag again and I had Pangborn find a deck of cards for the teens to play poker with... What are you doing?”

“Trying not to die from the heat,” Magnus says.

“The heat?”

“Told you the servers have a mean fever. With the temperature control not working, the entire room is worse than a sauna. Most of us are down to our underwea-”

“Magnus-” Alec tries to stop him, knowing he doesn’t want to go down that road right now.

“I’m not kidding! Underwears! Tech crew gone wild and unfortunately for me, I’m the prettiest of the bun-”

“Magnus-”

“I’m practically in the nude,” Magnus discloses, faux-prude, and Alec takes a deep breath, trying hard not to picture Magnus in his tight boxers, monkey wrench in one hand, opening mainframes to check for damages, his muscled brown back shining with sweat...

_Too late_.

“Oh god.”

“Morgenstern wasn’t impressed when he and his kids came by to motivate the troops, I can tell you that.”

“Way to kill the mood I suppose.”

“Yup. Verlac was most unpleasant. He had the nerve to imply I was responsible for the incompetence of this crew -still talking about you Lloyd. But somehow, he was marginally better than his sister. She sounded like the combined IQ of a pumpkin spice latte and the dumbest puppy of the litter,” Magnus explains, still fuming it seems.

“Why?”

“She asked me if tried to _turn on and off_ the servers.”

Alec chokes on his water, attracting the attention on the kids.

“What did Morgenstern say?”

“He’s going to airquote _talk_ end of airquote to that guy you captured last night to figure out if his buddies did something to our servers.” Magnus pauses, takes a deep breath and Alec knows he’s not going to like the rest. “Did he invite you yet? He said he would and that I shouldn’t worry if you came back late.”

Of fucking course.

“Because I really need to see someone getting tortured. Again,” Alec deadpans, already searching within himself the willpower to get through the rest of his day.

“As long it’s not you,” Magnus murmurs, more to himself than to Alec.

“Yeah.”

 

*

Magnus is fuming.

Sure, he wanted this -hell, he _designed it_. Looking at Morgenstern’s tech crew sweating like pigs -physically and intellectually- over Magnus’ little worm and its devastating effects on the severs was not only satisfying, but also hilarious.

Yet that doesn’t mean he planned to sweat along with them in the fucking sauna the servers room had turned into during the afternoon.

The electricity keeps on fluctuating -when it’s not outright cutting off, leaving them in the dark for several minutes, lost in a great dark oven, making the task to look for the cause of all those problems even harder (or in Magnus’ case, faking looking for it).

At some point the temperature got so bad in the windowless room that Magnus had to remove his bloody shirt not to die, then his dress pants (the only good thing about that was teasing Alexander with that little image because the man is so easy to ruffle. And oh boy, did Magnus love to ruffle him. But even that had melted with heat… now Magnus just feels gross and sweaty and generally repelling).

Besides the heat, facking cluelessness had not been fun for more than five minutes, tops. Magnus has been playing dumb for five years, surrounded by idiots (okay, it’s closer to four hours, but it damn feels longer).

And Magnus has always hated people saying he wasn’t that smart or not kneeling in front of him in awed reverence of his genius (or simply saying _thank you_ ). Being the smartest bloke in the room had some drawbacks, ie: needing people to know it (somewhere, Ragnor and Cat’s “ _let’s make fun of Magnus_ ” bone was being tickled. Hard).

The Morgenstern clan hadn’t been pleased by his lack of progress -the fact that Clary was faking it didn’t count. The would-be-patriarch had been a little too cutting, before amending that he was convinced that Magnus would help the tech crew to the fullest of his abilities. The _or else_ had been implied, but not spoken, perhaps for dramatic, perhaps to spare Clary’s supposed sensibilities.

Truth is, even Magnus might not be able to save those servers now. His little worm is behaving more like a sledgehammer, smashing every digital piece of shit Morgenstern owns to dust. Codes can be rewritten; software rebooted or reinstalled; but heat damaged optic fibers? Fried cables? Melted down circuits? Not so much.

_Damn, I sure did a wonderful job_ , Magnus allows himself a mental pat on the back. _Perhaps too wonderful? If only I didn’t have to deal with the consequences._

His main plan had failed though. He had hoped that the worm would find the software running the bombs implanted in his and Alexander’s chests and shut it down but Morgenstern had told him not to worry about them going crazy and exploding without cause, because it was on a secondary server system, and not in the boot camp. Meaning that they were stuck and using the Red Thief couldn’t be possible without killing themselves in the process.

Now he has to look for a solution -but not really!- while helping the others -to make him look as helpful as a dedicated oompa-loompa… but not so helpful that the tech crew might stumble arse first onto the worm’s core code. This double- triple? blind is too much and Magnus isn’t caffeinated enough for this bullshit (no wonder field agents turn cuckoo juggling so many lies).

Magnus is kind of a real spy now. He should pick a real _nom de guerre_ , as Babe doesn’t quite cut it anymore, it isn’t… sharp enough.

And speaking about sharp. Pangborn enters the room, looking pissed, barking at some guards and, when he spots Magnus he demands that he puts some clothes on and follow him to the corridor.

So of course Magnus gets up and sashay out of the room in his underwear. The temperature is marginally better here, but still stuffing and…

Oh. _Alexander._

The other man arches an eyebrow at Magnus and his absence of clothes, his hazel eyes roaming over him, pleasantly lingering everywhere. He gets closer, which puts him squarely into Magnus’ personal space (not so square thoughts pop into Magnus’ head, bloody him and he breathes out the need to smash them together). But he doesn’t stop here. Oh no. Magnus might be the king of escalation but Alexander is in a regicidal mood it seems.

Magnus’ eyes drop to Alexander’s chest, noticing that he’s not wearing the shapeless sweatshirt and pants he put on this morning, but a leather jacket (Magnus might die because of it), a deep blue shirt and nice jeans.

“You changed? I like this one,” Magnus says, fingering the lapel of the shirt. “Very you.”

He expects a snort but Alec tilts his chin up, alluring in a way that should be illegal, almost preening at the compliment. Jesus.

“Morgenstern said he had to change,” Pangborn says, helpful as ever.

Magnus frowns. _Ah_.

“You look like you’re going on a date with-”

He stops mid sentence as Alec tugs his gloves off _with his teeth_ and Magnus feels instantly a few thousand degrees hotter. Where did he find gloves? It’s not that cold outside, surely? Did he threaten some goon with his eyebrows from hell to get theirs? Just to fuck with Magnus- fuck he loves him.

“Is this payback for taking my clothes off when you weren't around?” Magnus asks, lost in Alexander’s hazel eyes. “Because I will do it more often.”

King of escalation, defending his title.

Alexander smirks, sweat pearling on his forehead with the heat in the corridor but looking more bothered by Magnus’s mostly naked form in front of him.

“God, you guys are sappy,” Pangborn interjects, from their right. Magnus hadn’t realised the man was still there.

“Since you’re just a goon, Morgenstern won’t be too angry if I throw you down the stairs until you stop twitching,” Magnus snaps without looking away from Alexander.

The spy smiles. “I’ll help,” he adds, the sharpness in his voice enough to kill. Magnus shivers, for all the wrong reasons. But damn.

Pangborn actually runs, his feet hitting the ground at full speed, out of view in no time. It’s almost worth the interruption. Almost.

“That man really should learn to shut up,” Alec points out.

Magnus takes Alexander in his arms and gives him a good hug.

“Are you on your way to or from that interrogation?” Magnus asks, already counting the minutes to Alec’s leaving his side. He is pouting, God he knows. He got shit to do; _shit to pretend to do_ ; one little microchip isn’t going to analyse itself without arousing suspicion. But he’s also expected to make a fuss- so, this is just him being a fantastic spy. Really.

“On my way. Just wanted to see you.”

And there is something a bit manic in Alexander’s eyes as he says that. He’s not being coy, but searching for a lifeline. Magnus gets it -the broadstroke of it. Whatever violence happened last night at the warehouse was unavoidable. Now torture… is an entire different monster. One Alexander shouldn’t have to fight alone, or at all.

“It’s not you my darling,” he says, taking Alexander’s cheeks in his hands. “You’re safe,” he adds, deeply aware it’s a lie.

“With you, I am.” And Alexander believes it, it’s obvious in the way he rest his forehead against Magnus’, tiny but relieved smile on his lips.

They stay in the corridor for a few minutes, just hugging. But Pangborn comes back and he takes Alexander away, leading him to wherever Morgenstern conducts his interrogations.

The thought makes Magnus’ heart sizes… Alec doesn’t deserve any of this shit.

 

A few hours after Alexander’s departure, dinner is served. It’s only sandwiches, eaten outside the building without light or much noise, shivering in the high-altitude, cold desert night, people too tired to maintain conversation (Magnus would have not tolerated a word to him anyway, not from this bunch and not after this hellish afternoon that is getting prolonged into a hellish evening and with some bloody luck, night).

People are getting sluggish (Floyd? Lloyd? nearly got fried as he opened a mainframe and Magnus had a good laugh out of it, at least) and the guards that were around this afternoon left once the camp was deemed rat-free. The technicians give Magnus a wide berth (must be all the hellfire coming from his mouth earlier) and the cameras here aren’t exactly working… everyone is busy wiping sweat from their foreheads and working a bit, he guesses.

So Magnus grabs a laptop and a headlamp and goes to examine a mainframe out of the way, muttering to himself about his bed, the general incompetence in the room and other innocuous things that people doing something perfectly normal and innocent would mutter about in his situation.

People doing something shifty are generally expected to act shifty around other people. Silent. Nervous. Constantly looking over their shoulder. Jumpy when talked to. Alexander had been a very good teacher all those years and now was the time to apply some serious spycraft.

_I really need a new code name_.

Installing the microchip the CIA agent gave Alec is easy enough but that doesn’t stop Magnus from being scared: what if this is a test from Morgenstern instead of providential help? Failing it would be like he condemned Alexander to pain himself as retaliation. But it’s done and Magnus monitors the results with the laptop, brain going over everything that could go wrong, until a window opens on his screen. He resizes the window so it’s not so bloody obvious and so the work he’s supposed to be doing is just a click away and begins to read.

His heart stops and for a brief instant Magnus is sure whatever explosive was stuffed in his chest is going supernova this very second, but it doesn’t.

It doesn’t.

In front of him, the program Morgenstern uses to monitor the bombs in his and Alexander’s chest, along with their GPS coordinates is running in ad mod. As in, free to modify the shit out of it right now. This is the motherfucking shit.

The power cuts off, brutally, the mainframe he is plugged into turned off immediately. His laptop continues to run, but the connection is lost with the other servers. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Long minutes pass and Magnus tries not to panic.

“Hey Floyd? Bring me some water,” he demands, mouth dry but eyes tearing up in frustration.

The technician throws him a small water bottle and Magnus catches it, downing its content in on go, veins flooding with adrenaline.

Shit shit shit.

Power comes on again, the huge mainframes humming in response, coming back to life like angry animals, ready to smother their wakers in heat.

The program flashes a servers online notification.

Magnus can shut it down. Can make it crash and burn in minutes and no one would be the wiser how that happened. And he nearly does but good sense stops him. Morgenstern might not know why his insurance of Magnus’ compliance wouldn’t be working anymore, but it only means Magnus (and Alexander) would be under more scrutiny, the semi free rein of their movement restrain back to nothing. Hell, Morgenstern might even take Alec back, without the collar around their necks; put him in a cell to remind Magnus who’s holding the leash.

Magnus needs to be smart about this. Fortunately, his brain was somehow underused today, so it’s ready for a good workout.

First of, Magnus needs to make sure Morgenstern doesn’t know the explosives are disarmed and shut off: aka make an image of the running software and somehow make it look legit. And do that for the huge number of people that were outfitted with explosives if the list under Magnus’ nose is to be believed. He recognizes one name besides his and Alexander.

Madzie.

_Morgenstern put explosives on children._

Shit shit shit.

 

*

Alec is lead through the holding cell block by a very silent Pangborn. There’s this… heaviness clogging the air? Yeah, a weight that every guard they pass seems to share, a stiffness that Alec carried since he had been invited to this place.

His left thigh throbs and Alec bites his inner cheek, rationalising whatever is going to happen. _Not you. Not you. Not you._ And Magnus’ lovely hands on his cheeks, reassuring and grounding. Safe. _Not you._

It works, more or less.

Until Alec in front of the dank little room that Morgenstern had Hodge Starkweather chained in. The walls are clean, but tinted a brownish pink in places and so is the slightly sloped cement floor; someone must have forgot to clean the metal plate on the central drain, as rusty flecks of blood crust it and a molar is stuck in between the bars.

_Not you._

Starkweather is a mess, sitting on a steel chair, bolted in place with heavy cuffs. He doesn’t look quite all there, the bruises, cuts and swelling on his face proof of a thorough pre-interrogation beating, leaving the man haggard. But when Alec enters the room, the man’s head shots up and he half frowns.

“Roberts?” he asks, choking on the simple name. “‘that you?”

“Good God man! Robert hasn’t grown hair on that bald head of his for a decade at least. And he was never this tall,” Morgenstern says pleasantly right behind Alec.

Alec forces down a full body shudder and steps aside, letting not only Morgenstern but his son and daughter inside the cell. Morgenstern is as cheerful as one can get, Verlac’s eyes are already rolling in boredom and Clary takes a sharp intake of breath as she sees the prisoner, her hands going to her face in shock.

“What is-”

“Clarissa, I told you you would have been more comfortable at the mansion,” Morgenstern cuts her warmly, like the problem here is the lack of comfy furniture and not the beaten up guy chained in front of them.

Verlac snorts.

“I don’t want to stay alone!” she begs, grabbing at his hand, playing the scared and innocent daughter perfectly.

“Oh you don’t have to be afraid of anything here. Pangborn, take her to the guards’ room.”

“But-” she begins, before being cut again.

“You don’t want to see this Clarissa. _I_ don’t want you to see this.”

She seems to realize he won’t change his mind and nods, sniffling a bit, and leave the cell (but not before glaring at Alec for good measure).

“Now to business. Alec, thank you for catching at least one of those party crashers alive. Pity you were the only one that managed. I probably should give you a regular pay,” Morgenstern jokes, all pleasant.

Alec nods politely, all too aware of Verlac boring holes into the side of his head with his unblinking stare.

“Old friend!” Morgenstern exclaims, turning his attention on Starkweather. “I must say, I was more than disappointed when you disappeared on me last year. Decided to set up your own business, huh? Took half of my best operatives with you. _Bad Hodgy_ ,” he scolds. “What did I used to tell you back at the Academy?”

Silence. Ten, then twenty seconds pass. Then Morgenstern hits Starkweather with a sucker punch, leaving the man heaving, fighting for breath and retching bile all over his lap. A ghost punch hits Alec, like a sick echo. A hundred. A thousand. He closes his eyes a few seconds, but behind his eyelids a basement is waiting for him; he blinks, hard, a hotel room in NY; a beach on the coast of Holland… places he would give everything to forget.

“What did I use to say Hodge?” Morgenstern repeats, enunciating the words carefully, pain to come promised in them.

“That I… I-I should leave the thin-thinkin to you,” Starkweather rasps out.

“And what did you do? You went and made a mess. Betrayal is one thing… but failure is worse,” Morgenstern says, disgusted. He steps away and gestures to Verlac. “Do your thing. Don’t. Butcher. Him.”

Verlac snorts, unconcerned, before he… Alec can’t decipher the look the man gives him: longing and anger, mixing on his too angular face, ready to snarl and bite Alec’s face off.

_What have I ever done to you, creep?_

“Alec? A moment of your time? I need to talk to you,” Morgenstern demands, herding Alec out of the cell, down the corridor and to a modest break room. Alec can feel Verlac’s eyes on him all the way to it.

Clary and Pangborn are there, both playing the least enthusiastic poker game ever. The lights flicker, once, twice, and stay out.

Morgenstern growls somewhere to Alec’s right, before the lamp of his smartphone illuminates the room. “Come, take a seat -damn it, whatever they did to the servers is getting worse. Perhaps I should have recruited their hacker instead.”

The last bit nearly has Alec choking in outrage. _Recruited_. Right. Because Magnus had a fucking say in being here.

“Sebastian will have answers soon enough, anyway. But that’s -”

“You really think it’s wise?” Alec cuts in, keeping his voice down, Morgenstern doesn’t seem like the man that appreciates his secrets exposed to his minions. “I know what Magnus found. You can’t be this trusting, letting the prime suspect with the only lead you have,” Alec says this in a “ _I don’t care either way but there is my professional assessment_ ” voice.

Morgenstern glares at him, but doubt overtakes his face and he gets up from his chair quickly and all but run back to the cell, the thin ray of light from his phone more ominous than helpful. Alec follows at a slower pace and hears Morgenstern says “-ond thought, I’m going to do that myself. Hodgy and I do have a history.”

Alec isn’t sure if Morgenstern let himself be played but the result is the same: more father and son tension. Plus he won’t have to hear whatever Morgenstern wanted to talk about. Hopefully.

“But this is-”

“No. Go play nice with your sister and have her recount her story to be sure.”

Uh, so he has some common sense to spare over Clary.

“Fine.” Verlac leaves, stiff as a corpse.

“How did she get here?” Alec asks, curious himself about the story Clary gave Morgenstern.

Morgenstern twirls the scalpel (that he took from his son?) and weighs it pensively, before turning to Alec “Luke told her MI6 had identified our base of operations -I think he told her to reassure her that I was far away from her… he dared raise my girl and didn’t hesitate to scare her with me. She took a plane. And then a cab. And she walked.”

Alec frowns.

“Convenient.” The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it, his tongue and face knowing how to play a good game without needing much more thoughts. Guilty people don’t question the lies that are in their advantage; good spies do.

Morgenstern’s laugh explodes in the tiny cell, the light shaking with him and Strakweather starts muttering panicky (a prayer, a swear, it’s anyone’s guess), the whole thing making Alec uncomfortable. “I know right?”

“I don’t understand, if you think she’s MI6-”

“Don’t confuse dumb truth with an incompetent lie. She’s an art student for Pete’s sake, I have some of her drawings in the mansion. Sometimes you just have to appreciate the humor in all this. Isn’t it true Hodgy?” Morgenstern pokes him on a nasty cut on the cheek.

_Hodgy_ nods, servile, flinching at Morgenstern’s every move around the room.

“You know how this works -we did it enough times together that you’re aware of my skill set. And you’re a mercenary now, so you don’t have to hold your tongue for Queen and country. You talk, I don’t hurt you. I’ll kill you, that’s a given, but you won’t feel a thing. You resist, well, I might actually call back my son. You called him unstable many times in the past…”  

“He’s memorable,” Alec mutters, earning a new booming laugh from Morgenstern. “Did I say something funny?”

“You have no idea my friend,” he tells him, voice too light.

Alec wants to pry but Starkweather chooses that moment to babble, eager to please his old master.

“I don’t know who hired us, I promise Val, I have no idea. They-they had us use dead drop contacts only. Even for the money. I thought it wa-”

“How much?”

“What?”

“How much were you paid for attacking my base?”

“Ten million us dollars in advance and thirty more after...”

Morgenstern takes that in and so does Alec. That’s no pocket money. Someone with resources -and contacts- has a interest in seeing Valentine Morgenstern kick the bucket. And a bit much for Verlac to move around without anyone loyal to his father noticing. So there might be another player...

“Continue.”

“I didn’t want to do it! I knew it was too dangerous and we didn’t have the numbers but Malachi didn’t listen, perhaps he had more contact with the clients… I-I wasn’t in charge. Val you need to believe me!”

Morgenstern snorts derisively. “Sad thing is, you never took charge of anything, not even your own damn life. I’m not surprised you were still following. _Hodgy the spineless_ , Maryse used to call you… So let me guess, Malachi led this little assault from the back?” Starkweather nods. “Again, not surprising. What was the plan of actions? Your fall back point?”

“And how did you mess with the servers?” Alec adds. Laying it on them can’t hurt.

“I don’t know of any servers!” Starkweather is sweating profusely, trembling, tears streaming down his bruised up face. “We had a route planned out for the mansion but our… our access codes were wrong at one gate.”

So they were set on killing Morgenstern. Pity they couldn’t get the job done.

“That’s when we realised we were breached.” Morgenstern wanders around the room, finger trailing the walls. “Curious.”

“Could be by design. Sacrificing a part of their troops, making us believe we have them pinned down in one location, so we focus our manpower there,” Alec comments.

“While the rest slipped and spreaded to the real objective and this little worm took refuge in the warehouse,” Morgenstern finishes. “You play chess?”

Alec shrugs. “Magnus likes to talk when he bypasses firewalls and security. I would be a fool not to pick up on his strategies.”

“He sure is-” Morgenstern’s wristband bips and he stops talking, looking quizzically down at the device. “Uh.”

“Something wrong?”

“Not yet,” he assures, a new tensionin his jaw. “Hodgy Podgy, sorry but I need to cut this short. Fall back point, means of contact for your little group and security measures, now.””

Starkweather gives everything up, babbling so quick Alec has difficulties understanding some of his words, and when he’s done, Morgenstern thanks him.

“Please Val, don-”

_BANG._

Alec had been so busy looking away from the pitiful, begging man that he hadn’t seen Morgenstern taking his gun out.

“Now rest, old friend.” Morgenstern turns to Alec and adds, “you know, I think he was your godfather.” He even pretends to be sorry for Alec and pats him on the shoulder.

Pangborn runs into the cell a few seconds later “What-”

“Dolce Santos -it’s a bloody farm- outside of Sucre. I need a strike team there. Fast. Order is to take as many prisoners as possible.”

The minion nods and runs out of the room without a glance at Starkweather and his brain on the wall behind him.

“Alec, we will have to talk about some small thing, but it can wait, we’ll resume this conversation tomorrow.”

The man leaves, briskly walking down the corridor and the lights come back like some hard core mood lighting, forcing Alec to really take in the blood, brain jam and dead body right next to him. Distantly, he hears Morgenstern telling his son to walk back his sister to the mansion.

_Not you. Not you. Death passed you by again._

He waits a few minutes, letting Verlac and Clary leave ahead of him. Outside, the air is icy cold and he walks quickly, vest lapels high around his face, grateful that the huge walk in closet in their bedroomed contained gloves and thick clothes. He wants to see if Magnus could be excused for the night -he’s not a technician anyway- and he goes to the servers building, only to be stopped at one of the gates and redirected toward the building the classroom was, Morgenstern’s order.

Shit, he must have changed his mind on talking to Alec later.

The building is ominously silent and dark, despite the rest of the camp being illuminated at the moment and something in his guts makes Alec draw his gun. Behind him, a heavy metallic curtain falls over the door and when he tries it, it’s securely shut.

“Shit.”

“Indeed,” Verlac says in his earpiece, “it’s almost too easy.”

The lights turn on, revealing half a dozen… kids. Kids with guns, waiting for him in the staircase, looking terrified, most guns pointed on Alec nevertheless. Madzie is there, a .45 in her tiny hands. She’s crying, gun too heavy to have it properly raised, but she clings to it like lowering it isn’t a viable option.

He threatened them.

“Men like you are so predictable, Lightwood. Now be a nice puppy and give your guns to the children,” Verlac orders.

Shit.

A teen advances on Alec, shaking like a leaf. It’s hard to say of whom she’s scared of the most: Alec’s rep? Verlac’s? Or of herself with a gun in her hands? Whichever is true, Alec keeps immobile, focus on the teen’s trembling hands, her gun pointed somewhere to his chest (he can’t help to notice her index is on the trigger rather than along it… yeah, she could have used his lecture earlier).

He lets her take his gun away and then points out in a reassuring voice that she forgot the other one, still holstered on his hip, and his combat knife -Verlac would punish them for forgetting them and would shoot Alec on sight. It’s dumb luck that Magnus isn’t monitoring him or he would have actually invented teleportation to kill Alec himself for volunteering his weapons away.

Knowing Verlac, he is going to shoot him on sight anyway, but somewhere non lethal so he can be a pain and make a little speech, gloating safely as Alec is slowly dying from a nasty stomach wound. Not a good way to go.

Of course, Verlac is waiting on the roof -it’s a small mercy no one has shot Alec by accident just yet.

“Alexander,” he calls, mocking.

Alec can’t see his face as there is no real light here, just some coming from the next building, and the bastard is on the other side of the roof. Verlac’s just a shadow puppet -one that Alec long to tear apart and burn.

“Don’t you worry, father wouldn’t be too keen on me killing his new pet. I just want to talk.” He’s trying for a reassuring tone, but he can pull it off, his malice just coming through, like pus oozing from a wound.

“Then why all the cloak and dagger?” Alec asks, already knowing the answer. Verlac is like his father. He likes his drama, the sound of his own voice dominating an audience.

“Don’t you love the rush? That feeling when death is so close you can actually take it by the throat and fuck it? Hi, I’m Sebastian and I’m an addict.” He laughs, the unease on the roof a physical weight now. “Though I must confess, forcing someone into it,” he moans, “it’s even better. Total power over others is a high you never forget.”

Alec remembers his first kill. Not a scratch on him, not a suspicion. Just the dull noise of a body hitting pavement; the crowd around them panicking; walking away with white noise in his ears and throwing up two blocks away… Not quite the perfect high Verlac is selling.

“So you wanted me to sweat?”

Verlac gesture at the kids.

“You’re not the only one here; my teaching method is somehow more efficient than yours.”

“God, spare me the act please. Consider me shaking in my boots but lets get this over with,” Alec says, taking the risk of angering him.

“Fine. Kids, go downstairs. This is for adults only.”

A kid begins to sob and Alec recognizes her even in the dark. Madzie. She collides in his legs, clinging to him and he pats her hair, eyes on Verlac’s cut out silhouette, worried about his reaction.

“Go,” he whispers to her, trying to be reassuring but she cries only harder. A little girl, lost and scared. An older kid drags her away, pleading and shushing her at the same time, fear rolling over them all, smothering anything else.

Alec sights in relief as the last kid leave the rooftop. Whatever Verlac has planned, Alec hopes the children aren't part of it.

“I want to kill the old man,” Verlac announces loudly, like he can't wait one more second to keep his mouth shut, surprising no one. He gets closer and pats Alec for weapons, frowning lightly when he doesn’t find anything. “I understand you and Bane are the real deal, Queen and country up your asses without hesitation… so my bargain is this: you help me take over -this place, his secrets, all the fucking projects- and England is safe from me. From us,” he proposes, sounding almost sane. “How do you say? Ah, business as usual.”

“Don’t those wristbands record everything?” Alec asks, raising his left hand a bit.

“You can’t think with the mess we’re in -the servers going _loco_ and the slight dent in our personnel- that anything non-essential is working or been monitored? We have far less resources that good old dad led you to believe.”

Alec nods, mulling that over. Good to know.

“Even if I help, I’m no army. You’ll need your father’s people to follow you as well… unless you already secured their support?”

Verlac chuckles. “Some are just here for the paycheck. The rest? Well, regicide is a ugly affair, one that demands the entire court to be slaughtered alongside its king.”

“So you organized that raid.” Alec doesn’t think so. But it’s the logical conclusion for someone that doesn’t know Magnus messed with the servers.

“Like I would hire uncle Hodge to botch the job… I do wonder who did it, though.”

“I’m not convinced,” Alec throws at him, circling the rooftop, looking down, contemplating a fall if the inevitability present itself.

Verlac huffs.

“I can’t just shoot him in the back! All those secrets he has… I can’t lose them. And I want the man to know. To see. _And to beg like I did!_ ”

Alec frowns. Right. Morgenstern hid his son well, passing him as Verlac Sr’s son, like a freaking cuckoo. All to gain access to Verlac Inc’s money, with little regards to his boy's wellness… that must have hurt.

“Yet what stops me from agreeing now but running to him as soon I’m out of here?”

“A little threat goes a long way. Sweet Magnus is just a breath away from me and I have my own people following some of your family. I’m the smarter choice for you. As I said, you lay back and think of England, I’ll do the rest.”

Uh. So verlac doesn’t know Magnus hacked him for his father. And that the man is aware of his son’s special projects.

“Clearly,” Alec says, acide. “And my guarantees you don’t kill me when the deed is done?”

On hell of a loaded question when both parties know there are none.

“Honestly, I might kill you regardless. You offend me by simply breathing, my little boy scout,” he confesses, almost rueful. “But I actually need Bane and I could care less about your family, so there’s that.”

_What a rotten hand… but it’s not like I have an option._

“I agree to those terms,” he says, just as someone burst through the door and fires in the vague direction of Verlac, once, twice and a sob, all three so loud in the dead of the night... before Alec is on Madzie, taking the too-heavy gun from her, horrified at the obvious consequence of her act.

He can’t even hope she hit Verlac, the sound of the shots was off -bloody blanks.

“I suppose it’s worth mentioning that I loaded blanks in all the kids’ guns!” Verlac yells, his delighted laugh following Alec as he takes Madzie in his arms and runs to the door, down the stairs, to the landing with all the scared kids waiting there, huddled together, watching him with wide eyes.

Madzie might have wanted to protect Alec, but by doing so, she had condemned herself. _Shit shit shit_. Alec needs his gun right. Fucking. Now. This was a controlled crash test for Verlac, Alec realises; pushing loyalties and fear together, perhaps even hoping some of the kids would give him a reason.

“I’m sorry,” Madzie mumbles between two sobs, as he passes her to a teen. The girl from earlier, shakier hands and wild eyes, hands him his weapons wordlessly, before running away.

“I know. You we’re only trying to help, it’s okay,” he quickly reassures Madzie. To the older kids he says, “find somewhere you can hide, I’ll try-”

Verlac throws the roof door open, his unhurried steps showing no worry about catching up, confident that Alec and the children can’t escape him.

The kids run but Alec stays a moment too long, a bullet grazing his right arm in punishment and he runs, getting down a flight of stairs, in a corridor, trying to put some distance between him and Verlac -no real hope in that- hopping he’s the one being chased and not the kids, leaving them some time to- _don’t think about that_. The door leading to the emergency staircase is locked tight and Alec finds himself trapped at the end of the dark corridor, Verlac entering the other side a moment later.

Alec stumbles through an empty and dark classroom, pushing and stacking desks against the door, aware it’s a dead end, as the windows are barred, just like the ones in the classroom this afternoon.

Verlac actually knocks on the door (Alec doesn’t waste his ammo, the bastards is without a doubt safely tucked behind the concrete wall beside the door).

“This isn’t quite the chase I envisioned -the fun we would have had if we had more time… perhaps I could have muddied you just enough for you to be berable to be around,” he observes, wistful. “Alas, Saint Alexander has to save people. The girl disobeyed me… She just had to give you her gun, but she shot me with it! Bad schooling all around.”

_Oh. He did frown when he was patting me… like he expected…_

“You wanted me to try and shoot you,” he says flatly, his mind truly focused on his guns, press checking them, making sure it’s the live ammo he put loaded them with this morning. Breathing in and out deeply, slowing down his crazy heart.

“You would have after I killed my father, don’t lie. Just preparing to tie up those pesky loose ends. Now be nice and let me shoot you, I don’t have all night and I have one more disappointment to deal with after.”

Madzie.

God.

Fucking.

_Shit_.

He tries to call anyone that might be listening but the comms are either down or no one is there, as Verlac said.

He begins to push against the door when an explosion rattles the floor, bringing Alec to his knees. The sprinklers go on, flooding the room and drenching Alec in seconds. From the other side of the door, Verlac shouts, “what the fuck is going on now?”

 

*

Panic flooded her in second. She knew what she had to do. What she was _ordered to_. But when the moment came, when she gripped Alec’s giant leg with all her strength and refused to let go… she didn’t reach for the gun and passed it to him.

The blond man had been smiling when he forced them to take the guns and his crazy eyes had lit up when he turned to her and gave her special instructions. When Mr. Verlac smiled, bad things happen -painful things. All the kids knew that. And she didn’t want Alec to hurt; he was nice. Even in that moment on the roof, he had comforted her. She could barely see his face… it was too dark and he was so tall. And she was so small and useless.

_But she didn’t pass him the gun._

Waiting in the staircase was terrible. She was crying. Matty was crying, so was Elena and all the others. Silent for the most part, shaking at every hiccup like little rabbits. And she was so angry. Angry and tired of crying, of being scared and hurt. So she shrugged Elena’s weak hold on her shoulders and ran up the stairs, pushed the door and opened fire. But she must have missed. Mr. Verlac just laughed and after a floating second Alec ran to her, picking her up like a rag doll, _shielding her._ It’s nice till it last, till he deposes her on the ground looking so worried Madzie starts wailing.

Now They run, terrified.

The endless drills have never prepared her for this. Her heart in her throat, legs hurting, breath short and shallow, her little feet carrying her nevertheless. Matty stops dead in his tracks, catching his breath, just in front of a maintenance closet. Their little group stumbles on the ground, heaving.

“We can’t let that fucker win!” he snarls, his weird teenage boy voice breaking in the middle.

“He said the guns were useless… and he’s after the other guy anyway, not us!” Lance says, shaking his head.

Madzie steps on his foot.

“Alec wants to help us!” she pleads, little fists tight tight tight in anger.

Elena gets to her feet and opens at the maintenance closet. “I’m going to bomb that asshole.”

Madzie stares at her, at the way her hands shakes as she mixed chemicals, Matty urging her to work faster. They use the gunpowder from their useless guns to make a line between their hiding place and the door Mr. Verlac closed right after Alec. _Their only way out_. Madzie takes a box of matches from her pocket and the older kids look at her funny, like they never got shouted at for not being ready for anything by the teachers.

As she drops the lighted match on the gunpowder, she prays Alec can get away too.

 

*

Magnus rolls his head from side to side, yawing soundly. _What a bloody day_. He passes a silky pj bottom and the shirt Alec slept in last night, too tired to be self conscious about it and yawns again. God. A thousand years of sleep aren’t going to cut it, he’ll need way more than that.

The shower he took helped wash away the day and its sweat, but it couldn’t do a damn thing for his nerves. It had took him hours to take over Morgenstern’s monitoring program and a minor freak out; now it was done and Magnus was left to stress about it, rewriting every lines of codes in his head... The bombs were shut down and Morgenstern would not realise it unless he looked at the GPS coordinates a tad too closely or tried to kill someone via their implants.

Which could happen at any time.

_Oh God. Okay, calm down._ He forces himself to breath and twists the Red Thief on his finger, smiling down at the ring, eager to blow this place to pieces and fly away, Alec in his arms and some suave music playing in the background.

He sighs. His lover must still be with Morgenstern, roped into a gruesome interrogation for no other reason that the bastard demanded it. That kind of thing takes time and Magnus knows he probably won’t see Alec before morning (emotionally drained and hurting like hell, no doubt). Resigned, he exits the walk-in dresser. The small bedside table lamp is basking the room in a soft glow and his eyes are half closed, his mind so solely on his bed he doesn’t register the man standing near it.

And then he does. His heart stops, and so do his feet.

That white, expressionless mask… The one that was staring at him through Alec’s eye cams in Seoul. Verlac’s. One side is dented, a crack running under the right eye, down along the nose, like he was punched, pink rivulets running on its surface.

Verlac is in his bedroom, still as a fucking statue but for the water dripping from him like he just stepped out of a hurricane -a small puddle is even forming on the floor, footprints leading away from the room. _It’s not raining outside_ , Magnus’ mind trips on Verlac’s presence and his unsettling silence; at his general wetness and, of course, at the fucking gun he always seems to be holding. The gun distracts him so much he doesn’t notice the little bundle that Verlac is clutching in his other hand at first, which is soaked too, just… dripping slower. Heavier. It’s not a black piece of cloth… it’s saturated with blood!

Magnus staggers back, putting some distance between him and Verlac, all too aware that there is nowhere to go and nothing to defend himself with. Behind him, there’s just the walk-in dresser and Verlac’s blocking the door to exit the bedroom.

“Think fast,” Verlac says suddenly, throwing the bundle at Magnus.

Magnus catches it by reflexes just before it hits him right on the face and his hands are immediately coated in blood, the overwhelming smell of it rising bile in his throat. He drops it like it’s burning and hears a chuckle before Verlac opens his fucking mouth again.

“That’s _his_ ,” he says, triumphant.

Magnus frowns, looking down. It’s a shirt, some parts still blue.

Blue.

Shirt.

_You changed? I like this one._

_That’s his._

No.

No.

_No_.

“He did put up a fight in the end. Just not enough. Dad will be disappointed, but your Alexander did shoot at me first.”

Magnus crumbles. Distantly. He can see the ruins of himself, everything crashing on the floor, his knees failing under him, but he can’t feel it. Can’t breathe it. Can’t breathe at all. Just mute pain and horror filling him, drowning him in silence. He thinks he hears Verlac gloats some more but words are beyond him… then Verlac turns around, and fucking leaves the room.

Blood boiling rage moves Magnus, coiling him, twisting him around until he gets up, running and collides against Verlac with his entire body, dragging him down, trapping his gun-holding hand against the floor, punching him once on the face, before Verlac punch his right ribs once, twice and wraps his other hand around Magnus’ throat, snarling at him.

Verlac rolls on top of Magnus, but he immediately knees the bastard in the junk and he gasps in pain, releasing Magnus’ throat -Magnus pushes him away from him, getting up and kicking him in the guts and goes for the ornamental vase on the end table, intending to knocks Verlac for good with it and stab him with the broken pieces - _can't see my hands not covered in his blood. So I'm gonna cover them with yours_ \- but Verlac grabs at his ankle and makes him fall face first, nearly breaking his nose. Magnus is kicked in the stomach -weakly, Verlac probably still feeling his funnies in the worst way possible, but still enough to make him retches.

God. That fucking gun. Against the back of his head, Verlac panting, holding him tight as any lover, the ghost of a grinning Camille on his mind, mashing together in one monstrous form, hungry for other people pain and despair. Alexander. Tortured by her. By Verlac. Dead now. God. Dead. Dead. Dead. Before Magnus could truly have him. Before real happiness. Dead.

_Like I’m going to be._

“Kitty kitty kitty,” Verlac says, breathless and pained. Disappointed. “You push and you push and you expect _me_ to… to thank you for claws in my skin? I-I don’t think so. Time for- _for someone to fucking pay!_ ” he yells in Magnus’ ear. “Gonna make a grand tableau out of you,” he whispers, gleeful in his anticipation.

Magnus tries to get out of his hold but the man hits him with his gun it’s goodnight moon and goodnight cow jumping over the moon in seconds...

“He’s gonna love it!”

  
  


It goes

  
  
  


                                                                                                                  like this

  


                            slow and unsteady

                                                                                                                              shaky and all too bright

  


stars dances

  


                                                       and Magnus, sloooooowly comes back to his senses.

 

Somewhere in a bruised part of his brain, he can hear Sterling Archer complaining about concussion and hospital or something. The other parts are quickly noticing that his right wrist his cuffed to the bedpost and that Verlac is currently talking to him.

No.

_To himself._

And Magnus can’t distinguish the words and he’s glad, because going by the tone of his voice, he sounds raving mad. Opening one eye, then the second, hurting because of the light nevertheless, Magnus spots him sitting at the end of the bed, rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself.

“That’s unnecessary,” Verlac says, raising his voice. “Depending on your tolerance for blood, you might want to close your eyes.” He turns around, finding immediately Magnus’ eyes and no amount of wishing makes him go away. And Magnus wishes hard.

“Cat’s got your tongue, kitty?” he takes a knife from his boot. _Alexander’s?_ All combat knives look the same to Magnus. But it’s a definite possibility.

Magnus answers by kicking him in the shoulder as hard as he can manage but only makes Verlac slides down the bed and the man smiles, his crazy entirely exposed and he jumps on Magnus, forcing all his weight on his chest, the knife just inches from his eyes, one hand wrapping around his throat, strangling him.

“Stay fucking still!” Verlac shouts.

God. Magnus can’t stop that knife _and_ the strangling with just one hand and the pressure builds and builds, Verlac’s hand like a vice around his neck… finally he knocks the knife away, but Verlac just grunts and adds his free hand to cut off Magnus’ airways.

He can’t breathe, can’t think.

He tries to reach for his lamp but the damn thing falls from the nightstand, crashing on the floor. Verlac chuckles, looking viciously triumphant at the same time Magnus' hand finds something cold and spherical and before he can consciously take a decision, he has his Balmoral castle snowglobe in hand and he rams it with all his force against Verlac's temple, viciously twisting the broken glass against Verlac’s head even as it cuts at his own fingers.

Droplets of blood falls on Magnus' face but it's not enough. Not bloody enough that Verlac stumbles back on the bed and releases Magnus’ neck. Not bloody enough to compensate for all the pain that the bastard caused.  For… for _Alexander_ . Magnus, hand stubbornly holding the wooden base of the snow globe, hits Verlac across the jugular with a broken edge and _slash_.

Blood sprays onto Magnus' face, hot and thick. He closes his eyes and he hears Verlac grunt, all surprised and the bastard falls on him, heavy -dead- weight on Magnus' chest.

Magnus pants, hard. His throat is burning like hell, wrong and painful, choking on air, relief and itself. A hard push and Verlac's body rolls away from Magnus, empty eyed and mouth slack. A hysteric giggles escape from his mouth. Weak. Satisfied. _Well that was cathartic_. He and Alexander were using the bloody snowglobes wrong all along.

He doesn't know how long he stays laying on his and Alec's bed but Magnus takes his time to breath out the panic, the stiffness that comes with adrenaline and the overwhelming relief to have survived that’s turning his bones to water. The anger is slowly fading, replaced by pain. By grief. Alexander. _My sweet, broken, healing, brave Alexander_. Magnus blinks away blood and tears, a sob rising in his fucked up throat.

Someone enter the room and _click!_ , readies their gun. Not a surprise but no less unwelcomed.

"Shit!" Pangborn swears.

Magnus, not moving an inch, opens his eyes and sees the man at the door, all blurry and cartoonish, eyes too large as he gets closer and realises _who_ is dead on the bed. Magnus chuckles, he can’t help it, too frayed to hold himself together, even as Pangborn takes aim at his head, despite the fact Magnus is still cuffed to the bed by one hand. It’s a poor consolation that Pangborn doesn't look happy to do so.

"The boss won't let him live after that," the man says, frantically looking between Magnus and Verlac's body.

Magnus doesn't have to ask. They both know that he's too valuable of an asset to be killed, even right now. Alexander, though, _was_ the perfect punishment. Morgenstern never made a secret that 'recruiting' Alec was to keep Magnus in line, to insure a prompt if not enthusiastic obedience to his orders. Alec _was_ just a bargaining chip in all this. But he’s dead. He’s dead and Magnus begins to sob fat tears, burning his eyes, because Alexander might be avenged but he’s still fucking dead, danger finally catching up with the magnet, like Magnus always feared. The pain is too much, too thick to breathe through. Alexander, gone. Killed. Dead.

He's also standing right behind Pangborn, _a kettle of all things in his hands_ , aimed at the henchman's head and a determinate expression on his face -every bit of the avenging angel he’s always been. _Oh god_ , Magnus is hallucinating now. His heart aches and he cries harder, wishing it away, begging it to stay.

The crack of the heavy metal kettle hitting Pangborn resonates loudly in the bedroom and Magnus shuts his eyes and screams, because that’s too real to be him losing it, too impossible to believe. Incomprehensibly, Alexander is by his side a second after Pangborn hits the floor, carefully checking Magnus’ injuries, soothing words on his lips.

He must be unconscious. Or dead. Yes. He died and now Alexander is here to welcome him.

"Mind dropping that?" he asks, working Magnus' fingers off the broken glass of the remains of the Balmoral snowglobe. _Real, cold fingers_ . On his warm skin. Hazel eyes frantic, going from Magnus’ cuffed wrist to his bruised throat, to Verlac’s dead body and _his_ mangled throat. Kind hazel eyes, even now.

Magnus can't answer. _I must be in shock_ , he muses, feeling a bit far away, like he's spectating his rescue. Because it’s true, isn’t it? _Please, let it be real_.

"We really should stop meeting like this," he whispers, voice shaking worst than the rest of him as Alexander pats Verlac for the key of the cuffs.

“If we stay together we won’t have to meet ever again, deal?” he answers easily. Like a promise.

“Sounds nice. _You’re dead_ ,” Magnus tells him once Alec uncuffed him.

Alexander knocks their foreheads together, gently, takes Magnus’ face in his hands and says “I thought I was too.”

“He said he killed you.” And Magnus is crying again, relief hitting him harder than Verlac or Asmodeus ever could.

“He’s a bastard.”

_Was_. God.

Magnus grabs Alexander’s wrist, anchoring himself. “What the bloody fuck happened?”

“He got me trapped in a classroom and tried to shoot me. The kids started a fire I think and -it got bad. But I managed to escape,” Alexander explains. “I passed out from the smoke in a bush, not my finest hour… even lost my weapons. Hence the kettle.”

_The only true british way, really._ He giggles, blinking tears and hiccuping on his breath, noticing the ash on Alexander skin, the patches of burned leather of his jacket…  

“But he had your shirt!” The shirt that Alec isn’t wearing anymore. The shirt covered in blood somewhere near the dressing. The blood that is still on his fucking hands. _Alexander’s_ , he said.

“I used it to protect me from the smoke, Babe. Didn’t realised I left it behind.” Or that Verlac would used it a sick prop, apparently.

“You’re not okay,” he declares, eyes locked with Alexander’s. “I’m not okay.”

“And we need to go. I… any way we can. He won’t forgive this.”

Magnus begins to nod, overwhelmed by what needs to be done. Then he shouts “No! No no no no.”

“Magnus, we can’t go on-”

“I hacked it last night! The bombs!” and he lets go of Alec and pushes the stone on the Red Thief before Alexander can mention any other option.

Alec stiffens (Magnus does too, _dear God_ ) expecting his chest to burst open, to die.

It doesn’t. Magnus’ wristband gets way, way too hot after a minute, and Alexander cuts them down quickly, before they burn their skin and they throw their earpieces away too. Magnus release a shaky breath and giggles. As if on cue, the light flickers and the bulb explodes a few seconds later, followed by the discarded wristbands.

Verlac moves. Holy fucking _shit._

No. His earpiece just burst, along with his other devices. Small fires eat through his clothes, from where his phone and wristband are burning and Alexander kicks him off the bed before it catch fire too. Distant shouts follow and Magnus tries to breath in some satisfaction.

In the dark, he can’t see Alexander and he blindly grabs at him, afraid he’ll find nothing but air. But he’s there, all scorched leather and sweaty hair, alive and warm.

“We going?” he asks, tensed with fear. They’re not saved yet. Not by a long shot.

Alec nods against his face.

“We’re going.”

Magnus tracks down practical clothes, and quickly dresses, trying not to shake too much as he splashes some cold water on his face, glad he can’t see his face in the mirror.

When he comes back in the bedroom, Alexander blindly puts a hip holster on him, places a gun in there and gives him a second one. Mechanically, he chambers the first round at the same time Alexander press check his gun, the faint noises so loud in the silence of the bedroom. However this ends, they'll do it together.

 

*

The base is in uproar.

Yesterday a massive security breach, resulting in dozens of deaths. A real invasion, enough to get everyone in their right minds on the fucking edge (if not running away). The massive explosion at the warehouses didn’t help either. All day, the power station and servers making everything worse. Tonight, a new fire…

And right now, Alec and Magnus roaming in the shadows, wrecking electrical havoc as they go, incapacitating guard after guard, with just a few minutes standing where they can’t see them, until their wristbands and earpieces explode, burning deep. Fighting someone in those conditions can’t be that easy to pull off and thank God, Alec doesn’t have to find out. He just has to slither out of his hiding place and twist necks.

_Crack._

The whole affair is deceptively easy and bile rises in Alec’s throat.

After the last guard is down and hidden in a dark corner, Alec and Magnus enter a little guardhouse in between fences, just the time to catch their breath and take a good look at a map. This part of the base is strangely silent, drowned in the dark like a fever dream. Alec blindy finds a stack of military grade emergency glow sticks in a drawer and cracks one, keeping the light low, so it’s not seen through the windows.

“Ideally, we should aim for the outer perimeter,” Magnus says, but he doesn’t sound convinced by his own advice, eyes on the center of the camp, concerned face bathed in fluorescent green  light.

Clary is still here, and so is that CIA agent -Maia, if that’s even her real name. Both women with agendas Alec can only outline… if he even can do that. He’s not infallible, he could be played by either of them.

“Nothing about this is ideal,” he comments drily. Only he and Magnus to rely on; thank God, they always managed to make it work.

“Yeah, the beach and the coconuts trees are sorely missed at the moment,” Magnus fires back.

Alec glares at him. Softly. _He’s scared and still reeling from what happened with Verlac, hurt all over and deep inside._ If Alec had only get there sooner…

“Clary should be at the mansion. That is if Verlac didn’t take her anywhere else and doubled back to ambush me.” _Come to think of it, she could have been in the building... The one the kids burned down_.

“Morgenstern wouldn’t leave her solely under his care. Not after I hacked the fucker. Plus the guards at the mansion would have contacted Morgenstern,” Magnus counters.

“Or, they could be on Verlac’s payroll,” he stops, remembering Morgenstern’s earlier concern and sudden departure. “He was informed of something- Morgenstern I mean. Don’t know what it was but it was important, he was downplaying it too much. He might not even be in the base right now.”

“So Clary -he could have taken her with him?” Magnus asks. “Is that a risk worth taking?”

_Risk versus reward, always._

Morgenstern possibly so close; too close, perhaps? The temptation is great to go there all guns a-blazing, to take him down, _finally._ Plus there is Clary to save. But she’s perhaps capable of doing so herself, having a plan at the ready. So going to the mansion instead of running for the proverbial hills would only make them lose their window of opportunity.

“We won’t survive a night in the desert, too cold. And if we’re caught outside the base with our chests intact, they’ll know the implants are off... No, might as well go up there and pretend we’re helpless fuzzballs, seeking shelter while the Red Thief works its magic,” Alec decides, taping his finger on the mansion location.

“Clary has a wristband,” Magnus reminds him. “Also, _fuzzballs_?” One of his eyebrows is raised, challenging.

“I have to trust she’s smart enough to cut it down if it gets too hot,” Alec answers, ignoring the rest. He can’t find their current location on the map, so he has no idea how to get to the mansion. Running in the dark and hiding in bushes isn’t exactly helping his sense of orientation.

“ _Helpless_? Magnus continues, poking Alec’s side. “I hope you realize that’s only an apt description of you, not me, darling.”

“I can kill people with my eyebrows, Magnus,” Alec says absently. “You said so yourself.”

“And you fell down a staircase trying to avoid me and twisted your ankle in doing so -I rest my case.” There’s not a hint of mercy in his beautiful voice or on his face when Alec looks up.

He stays silent for a second or ten, cheeks burning, lips a thin, outraged line.

“Remind me to kill Jace when we’re home,” he says finally.

Magnus kisses him on the cheek, a little too hard, a little too desperate. _When we’re home_. What a sweet prospect.

“The mansion isn’t far from here. If we cut through the east barracks instead of sticking to the scenic route,” Magnus declares, following an invisible path on the map with his finger. His nails are broken. One is missing, torn away. “We’ll be there in no time.”

_God, he fought like a lion._ Alec’s heart sizes. _I nearly lost him. Again._ The thought paralyzes him for a moment, before Magnus breaks the spell by getting up and pocketing the map.

“Wait, you know where we are?” his tone is a little too transparent, a little too incredulous and Magnus gives him _a look_ before saying: “how many maps you think I read as a Handler?”

Alec nods, properly chacitize.  


As they walk in the dark, following Magnus’ directions, they establish their lies.

“If they notice our lack of wristbands we just tell them the truth, we cut them off before third degree burns,” Magnus says.

“Might not have the time for all of that,” Alec points out. “They’ll burn before.”

“Aw, I like that a lot.”

“For someone always complaining about my ability to blow things up, you’re real chipper about this.”

“Because there is no way you can blow your own arse in this situation,” Magnus retorts, a tad too hopeful. A few seconds, later, like an afterthought, “that is not a challenge!” he whispers angrily.

“Five by five, Babe. Shall we?”  


As always, the mansion is light up like some Beverly Hills proprerty -Morgenstern is that tacky. Guards are placed everywhere, looking sharp, deadly and disposable; Alec counts fourteen, and that’s only the ones he can see outside. As he and Magnus get closer, the lights flicker. The security team tenses up, but nothing more than the coiling of a great machine, readying itself lazily for an attack it doesn’t believe is coming (the power has been fluctuating all day after all. It’s actually impressing they’re this reactive).

Magnus touches his elbow and he looks at him, at the doubts covering his face, written deep in worry lines, before they’re swallowed in the dark, the many lights exploding in concert. A few explosions shake the ground, projecting dirt in every direction, testimony that the lawn had been outfitted with motion detectors and anti-personnel mines. The Red Thief is nothing but efficient.

“There could be simple pressure-plate mines around too,” Alec warns.

“See, you think you’re being helpful, but you’re really not,” Magnus whispers back, his vice-like grip on Alec’s forearm telling enough about his state of mind.

Now there’s a few shouts: surprise, of course, but orders mainly. “Steady now!” They wait a minute but nothing changes, no hollering of pain, or shouts for help.

“Okay, _that’s definitely a trap_ ,” Magnus says.

Alec frowns, tracking the faint movement of the guards he can see by starlight and the soft, warm light coming through the windows: candlelight, already lit when the lights popped. _They were prepared for outage_. No way Morgenstern could have foreseen or known about the Red Thief. He wouldn’t have let that kind of weapon in Magnus’ hands if he had knew.

The guards call each other, a bit nervous now that’s nothing is coming, checking one isn’t missing.

“Or they got wiser and stopped carrying electronics on them after the twentieth guard admitted at the ER with a burned out ear and roasted wrist,” he rationalises, willing it to be true.

“Do we risk it? He won’t touch an hair on Clary’s head. Us, on the other hand...” Magnus doesn’t have to elaborate and Alec bites his lip in concern.

“They might know the first wave of injured came from your suite’s building. That puts a strong suspicion on us and… shit I don’t know,” he admits. “If we hide, we lose the night and it’s over. If we run, we end up popsicles, lost in Salar de Uyuni. Or Morgenstern catches us, and…” _better not think about that._

“If we stay, we risk capture and death,” Magnus finishes. “I rather die on my feet, you know.” His voice cracks, but he doesn’t move. Alec can’t see him in the underbrush, can only feel his breath against his face and hear the chittering of his teeth.

“I could go…” he offers.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Magnus growls, taking his hands in his, gripping them as tight as he can ( _a lot_ , Alec winces. He deserves it).

He bites on his frustration, on his fear for Magnus and himself. He has the training. Magnus… does not. Not the same way at least. _But he promised._

“Fine, we both go -we heard the ruckus, we nearly got burned. Now we want answers and a fireplace. We stay in character until it gets bad.”

There’s a commotion near the house, the heavy thud of a body dropping and Alec tenses immediately at the resulting shouts of alarm. Before he can think, a guard shouts: “It’s nothing, I tripped on the fucking flower bed.”

“Go fuck yourself Jackson, I nearly shot your ass!”

“The extra guns?” Magnus demandes urgently. He has yet to let go of Alec’s hands like he’s still concerned Alec might run to the house all by himself.

“Picked them off dead guards, it’s true enough. _You can’t blame us for being smart_ ,” Alec says, using an outraged tone. That’ll work. “About your face…”

“What about it?”

“They’re going to see the bruises and cuts. Your nose looked broken.”

“It’s not.” Magnus sniffs. “But shit. The truth isn’t actually suitable...” he trails off, mind obviously on Verlac.

“Just… another intruder hiding since last night? Got the drop on you. Morgenstern was worried his competition might try to, uh, _reacquire_ you or take you out.” Not a bad explanation.

“Lovely. I’ll turn the Red Thief off, Rafa put on a serious battery in it, but no need to take the risk.”

“Okay. Love you Babe.”

“Love you too, Woody.”

Since there is no light now, except for candles inside the house, Alec takes a deep breath and shouts “Lightwood and Bane, coming to the front of the house, requesting entrance.”

A pause, then “are you armed?”

Alec swallows the “ _what do you think dickhead?_ ” that is burning his throat and answers “yes, all holstered” instead, as snark free as possible. Magnus snorts at his feet, letting him know how much he failed. _That’s true love, I guess._

“Stand where you are!” is shouted right back and Alec feels the nerve-wrecking pause in his bones, and forces his jaw to relax. Even from the distance, he can hear the furious whispering among the guards. Minutes pass, Magnus nervously typing the seconds against Alec’s calf.

“You can come in. Slowly, arms over your heads,” a guard finally shouts back while others quickly crack heavy duty glow sticks, throwing them down the path so they can spot them. And, if needed, shoot them.

“Slowly,” Alec says, more to himself than to Magnus. _Why the hell am I always getting in these situations? Ah, yes. Poor parenting and career choices. Shit, shit, shit. This is so stupid._ “You run if they open fire and you don’t bloody look back,” he orders Magnus as he gets up. It’s harsh, but he loves him too much.

Magnus, unsurprisingly, answers in kind, “same goes to you, darling,” he warns, ice in his voice.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They walk slowly, keeping to the lighted path. Four guards pats them down, the rest aiming at them without urgency. Just the casual death threat. A tickle, at that point. _I’m so tired._

“I don’t think you get to have guns,” one says to Magnus. “And what the fuck happened to your face?”

“I got a taste of what happens when you’re out there without a weapon,” Magnus retorts immediately. “You missed one of the intruders from last night. He wasn’t really keen on me breathing.”

“There are a lot of bodies…” Alec lets that sink in in their minds, shaking his head. “ _I_ took the initiative of giving him the guns.” It’s a reasonable decision, one that no one would really fault him for. “He isn’t a neophyte, if you’re worried.”

The one obviously in charge gestures at his guns, “house rules still apply. No gun for either of you in the mansion,” he says.

“You can’t be seriou-” Alec begins but the man _tries_ to push him back, without a doubt expecting to come across as intimidating.

“Now listen to me, Mr. Superspy, I give the orders when the boss ain’t around and his creepy hellspawn of a kid ain’t either. Guns, _now_ , or I put you down.”

Alec shakes his head derisively -he can’t help it- but comply. Beside him, Magnus tenses up when a guard takes his guns.

“And you knew to take your wristbands and comms off how?” the head guard asks Alec.

“When I nearly caught fire _moron._ ” The moron is silent. The tone is… less than ideal. Stress and annoyance are taking a toll on his people skills.

The man glares at Alec but doesn’t say anything -Morgenstern must have given order to let them mouth off (which, in Magnus’ case, was a formidable idea to keep him alive and not have him killed by the first hot-headed guard that couldn’t handle sarcasme).

“Shouldn’t their implants have gone off?” a guard asks, frowning at their chests. He sounds really young -early twenties. Alec has four scenarii up and running in his head about killing that boy before he blinks away and looks questionably at his superior. How many corpses between them and freedom? How much more blood on Alec’s hand?

“The fuck I know? At this point I don’t care, Mr. Morgenstern will deal with them when he’s back,” the guard in charge says. “Fucking job. Get them inside,” he orders at his men. “You, you move a way I don’t like, and we shoot you, capiche?”

“Crystal clear, guv’,” Magnus answers, mocking the guard with every fiber of his being. Alec chuckles, dissimulating his disappointment at Morgenstern not being here -they could have ended him… or he could have ended them, he reminds himself.

As they get inside, Magnus takes his hand; he’s shaking like a leaf and Alec squeezes it, trying to pass some of his already melting cool to the other man. The mansion is warm and he sighs in relief. Even with good clothes, the temperature outside is too damn cold. He’s relieved to see Clary in the den, bundled up in thick blankets by the fire, drawing something. Candles are placed at effician, military intervals. _So much for mood lighting._

As she takes in their presence, she tries to get up but falls on her knees because of the blankets and ends up glaring at them from the ground.

“What are they doing here?” she complains to the guard escorting them.

“Warmest place in the house right now, fit for guests,” the head guard says, dismissing her budding protest with a hand wave. “Miss, those are your father’s directives. They’re allowed here in case of trouble.”

She sits back, sulking and gets back to her drawing, the perfect picture of a spoiled brat. _No one expects a chihuahuato be more than that, they’re too annoyed with the yapping to think past it_. The guard looks distrustfully at them one last time and leaves the room.

He and Magnus exchange a _just like that?_ frown, while Clary points her pencil toward the curtained french doors leading further in the mansion, before taping it twice on her drawing pad. Alec nods and she smiles, the gleam in her eyes calling for trouble. Alec can see why Jace got head over heels for her; his brother always had a thing for sharp knives.

“Uh.” Magnus sighs, loudly, before sitting stiffly on the nearest sofa. “Please tell me there’s a mini bar?” he asks without being serious (Alec hopes).

“I-” Clary growls under her breath and continues, sounding pissed but civil, her face a different tale altogether. “I can go to the kitchen and make hot chocolate? I’m not sure you can get out without supervision.”

They both nod, letting her go do whatever she needs to do without the guards getting suspicious -she leaves with an handful of crayons, her knuckles white around them, and Magnus raises an eyebrow at that but she just grins. Alec goes by the fireplace to check on what she’s drawing: a puff piece of Jace smiling. He flips it to the last page and show it to Magnus, passing the tips of one finger on the small dots embossed on it. _Izzy’s_ _been busy._ Alec remembers that Clary had a bag when she came in the other day… obviously someone didn’t expect braille chemistry notes in a drawing notebook full of nudes.

“They seem to be as uninformed as we are,” Magnus notes, tone dripping with derision, voice just low enough to give a impression of secrecy, but loud enough to be heard if someone is listening.

“Not a good thing,” Alec answers the same way, “the base is falling apart… Morgenstern better come back with a plan.”

Two guards enter the room, carrying bags. Despite the balaclavas and the tac gears they’re both wearing, Alec frowns at one of the women, at the way she carries herself -just something impossibly familiar…

“I see you two got cozy,” Maryse comments, her voice rocking Alec’s bones like thunder; despite the fake accent she’s using, it’s still her voice. Behind her, Maia lifts up her balaclava for a second and winks at Alec.

He hears Magnus gets up the couch and walking to his side, but his eyes are locked on his _mother’s_ . It takes him a moment too long to get back to his senses, to process what he’s seeing and machinally says “we’re _estimated guest_ s, don’t see why we can’t have some creature comforts.”

His mother wearing a tac vest, M16 in hands and death in her eyes isn’t what he expected tonight (or ever). The pictures he saw when he was child didn’t convey her true presence. Years of seeing her in dresses with a tablet and a frown as weapons put a damper on the simple reality before him: she’s like him. Made for deceit, destruction and death.

“Do you need something?” Magnus demands, his usual dismissing tone thicker than usual.

Maryse rolls her eyes and Alec sighs - _great._

“We have order to extract Ms Morgenstern to a safer location until the base is deemed secured by her father. Fortunately for you, the orders also include to take you if possible”

“Woa woa, hold on here,” the head guard bursts in the room by the french doors with two others. “Those orders are new to me and I’m-”

“Not qualified for this task,” Maryse cuts him. “Or do I have to point out to you we got in without you noticing? Roberts?”

Maia takes a tablet out of her bag and looks for something on it before playing an audio file. It’s from Morgenstern himself, ordering Clary and Verlac to be extracted as soon as possible, along a few others, Alec and Magnus among them. He doesn’t sound particularly concerned or urgent, and Alec is baffled: how did his mother and Maia obtain this?

“Okay I don’t know what game you’re playing but-” the head guard tries again.

“You think I’m playing a game, son?” Maryse goes toe to toe with him. She’s shorter, but he’s the one that flinches and clears his throat uncomfortably -at least he has the brains to know his place on the food chain. “Morgenstern placed you in this position because you’re good at it -but we’re no guard dogs. The boss wants people extracted off this location, _now_. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Man, she’s pissed off now,” Maia chimes in, sounding delighted. “But we don’t have time for that. Where are the ginger and the blond? The boss said they would be there.”

“He, uh, he was here, but he left after he drove his sister -she’s in the kitchen. Haven’t heard of him since. What are our orders?”

“Shit,” Maryse says, looking conflicted, “we don’t have much time… _you stay put_ , didn’t you listen to the man?” Maryse snaps, in a tone reminding Alec of his childhood so strongly he actually flinches.

There’s a shout outside, “smoke grenade!” quickly followed by “take cover!”

The reaction is immediate, Maryse, Maia and the guards overturning a table, drawing out their guns, ready for the worst. Alec pushes Magnus behind a couch and swears under his breath. Without guns, he feels _naked_. “What now?” Magnus asks, begging heavenward. Alec shakes his head before glancing at his mother, but she seems genuinely surprised -not that’s it a good indicator, the woman has an uncanny talent for deceit. But strangely enough, no one fire their guns outside, to busy screaming “can’t breathe, can’t breathe!”…

“The fuck,” the head guard says, after a guard outside signals a new grenade, calling for his comrades before falling silent. “Go secure the front door, and you, the patio,” he orders to his two men. They leave in order, but Alec see one hand shaking above a trigger… _Bad from_ , he thinks, mind on his lesson with the kids. _Dangerous._

A big caliber fires a couple of rounds outside before a cacophony of answering guns fires back, but Alec frowns: nothing hits the house, its walls or windows, which is pretty incredible since this room is well lit. It’s hardly missable. _Only the guards are firing_ , Alec realizes, _the attackers aren’t_ … it dies out, the guards finally realising no one is shooting at them and then, just then, Alec hears a faint thud, a dead weigh hitting the floor, a pained “ooow” followed by a door being opened and closed real quick, something knocking and rolling on the tiles outside the house. There’s no sound after that beside the shouts of panic of the guards at the front of the house.

Something tilts in Alec’s brain. The chemistry notes _. I can go to the kitchen and make hot chocolate?_ The crayons she held so tightly. _Clary._

The head guard’s head is turned towards the corridor, frowning. _Ah, the illusion is dissipating, the chiwawa giving to a snarling wolf._ Alec is on him before he can make a move, twisting his neck quickly and shrugging when Magnus asks him the _what the fuck_ he is doing, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Clary?” he calls out.

She enters the den holding her wrist, looking down at the dead man without batting an eye “I fell,” she says, sheepish, almost amused at her own clumsiness.

“What the hell did you do?” Maryse askes her. “You weren’t supposed to take any action.”

“Izzy was most amiable to provide some easy-to-follow recipes just in case I got lucky. My secret weapons were even more powerful than expected,” she explains, nonplussed by Maryse’s attitude, proudly showing her a single crayon. “The pen is mightier than the sword and all that.”

Magnus peers at her with interest. “Solidified knock-out gas?” he asks, dead guard forgotten.

Alec chuckles, his boyfriend is such a nerd.

She shrugs, wincing when she moves her wrist. “Something like that, turns into a thick fog in boiling water, just needed a few cups. Plus I liberated a couple of ketamine syringes from the infirmary in the basement.”

“Some might still be alive out there. Roberts, recon.”

Maia sighs loudly and points out “this is a joint op, you’re not my boss” to Maryse, but she still unsheathes her combat knife and exits the room in absolute silence, a simple shadow.

“What about you? You shut down your implants? We can’t take you out if-” Maryse demands, putting an hand on Alec’s shoulder.

“Yes, I did.” Magnus snorts when Maryse looks at him, eyes dark. “ _Can we go now?_ ” his voice trembles and Alec takes his hand, poorly dissimulating his own nervousness.

There’s an aborted shout right by the window next to them and Alec forces Magnus’ attention on him. “We’re going. What’s the plan?”

“Put on the gear we took from their reserve, we’re heading to the landing strip.”

Alec frowns. “Just like that?”

“Valentine isn’t here, Verlac is dead -messy work Alec, _real messy_ \- and we got a voice sim parroting any order we need. CIA and local authorities will deal with the resulting mess.”

Not ideal. That would leave Morgenstern wherever he went, free and still a menace. Alec doesn’t exactly feel like peeking over his shoulder and Magnus’ for the rest of their lives.

“Sebastian is dead?” Clary asks, going chalk white. She doesn’t wait for an answer and leaves the room, knocking over an ornamental vase in her haste. It shatters on the floor like a bomb and Alec has to admit he didn’t even think of what Clary could feel knowing her brother was dead -perhaps she hopped, coming here, that he was still redeemable. No such luck… Magnus looks, well, green. But he’s standing and breathing and getting out and, eventually, healing. Verlac isn’t, as it should be.

“ _Civilians_ ,” Maryse mutters dismissively. “What did she expect?”

“How do-”

“We went to your suite. Of course you couldn’t stay put in one location and we had to come here; Clary was supposed to stay with Valentine a bit longer… well, one good plan thrown through the window.” She throws him a pinched look, on that says, _I’m used to it with you_ , before her eyes flick to his and Magnus’ joined hands. He throws back that glare at her. She just huffs, like he is an impossible child and he shakes his head, like she’s a piss poor example of a mother -which she is.  


Clary comes back a few minutes later, eyes red but determined, quickly followed by a chipper sounding Maia. “No problem out there, that gas is absolutely fantastic. Any chance MI6 is inclined to share their goodies? No? Okay.”

In the meantime, Alec and Magnus changed clothes, and are now looking like lamda guards, balaclavas and all. The familiar and reassuring weight of loaded guns on him is making Alec breathe easier and he’s not ashamed of it, of the way his hands fit perfectly over the SA80 assault rifle his mother passed to him. _Almost like a teddy bear._

_So close._

The five of them ready, they make their way out of the house, Clary hiding a small pistol on her to maintain the illusion of the inoffensive princess escorted to safety.  


The trek to the landing stripe is uneventful and _cold_ , teeth chattering from the temperature and tension coursing through him alike. Alec feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“Is there even a plane ready?” he asks his mother when they come in sight of the well guarded hangar boarding the landing stripe. It’s only lit at the beginning, near the hangar, and far away at the end, by bonfires.

“In what do you think I came?”

“You just, what, landed here?”

“Easy to do when you have all the authorization codes and orders from the big boss,” Maia answers before Maryse can. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Yes yes, yours was truly a-”

“HALT!” a guard shouts in their direction, taking them in his sights immediately. “State your business now!” a dozen other guards fan out behind him and Alec has to force down the bile that comes to his mouth.

“Code 8 5 Alpha X-ray 2 1 8 November India 7 4, with escort, extracting package _Charlie_ to _Mike_ safe location,” Maryse shouts back, managing to sound bored.

The guards waves them closer, nodding to Clary respectfully, before one inquires about Verlac and the rest of Maryse’s list of packages.

“Couldn’t find package _Victor_ or anyone else. The mansion fell, I had to make a decision.”

“And what about them?” another asks, pointing at Alec, Magnus and Maia with his gun. “What about us?”

“ _Mike_ gave me liberty to add to the extraction team if needed, that’s Roberts, from spec op, and that’s- uh, Bristol? And Alianovna.”

“Bristow,” Magnus corrects, exasperated. Alec kinda wants to kiss him right now.

He himself grunts a few words at his mother in russian, which, in case someone is speaking it, translated to “we’re losing time.”

Maia actually curtsied, before savagely saying, “If you guys wanna run, you might want to check hangar two, we’ve got two choppers and a few jeeps there. Just, you know, wait for the next paycheck before sending your resignation letter.”

“We’re not running!” one says, at the same time several others turn their heads to the left, not looking so loyal.

“Dude, I’m not either, but the base is falling, I just want to deliver the package to the boss, get payed and take a vacation,” she says easily.

Half the guards actually leave and run into the dark, the other shouting after them, then, after a few seconds of deliberation, running too.

Alec turns to Maia, who is radiating smugness, “You know, if you had been this efficient back in Cabo, I wouldn’t have got shot.”

“Now you’re just being hurtful. Also, I put a lot of explosives behind that do-” _BOOM!_ Just a few hundred yards to the left, having all of them shouting in surprise and going down.

“Perhaps too much explosives?” Clary snarls at Maia when debris begin to fall a few feet away.

The CIA agent only giggles and gets up swiftly. “Girl, it’s been five months coming, I think I actually went easy on them.”

“I liked it,” Alec says.

“Of course you did, you’re a pyro!” Magnus shouts, before grunting when Alec helps him up. “So much grey hair. And a heart condition. Possibly hearing trouble… I hate you all.”

“Can we get to the bloody plane?!” Maryse cuts out, her visible breath making it look like she’s fuming.

They don’t make it to the plane. Of course they don’t.

Lights flood the landing strip, huge projectors on them, blinding. And above the ruckus of half a dozen jeeps bursting around them at full speed, too many boots and shouts to _get down, get down!_ , Morgenstern’s voice rises above via megaphone, just as they’re pushed to the ground, disarmed and cuffed.

“This has to be the sloppiest escape plan you ever devised, my dear Maryse.”

A guard takes off Alec’s helmet and balaclava, the biting air nothing compared to having his bare face pressed into the asphalt of the landing strip. Magnus shoots him a desperate look, before he’s dragged away with Clary, beyond the circle of lights. He shouts after him, God he shouts, but his voice is lost in the screech of tires, a jeep driving away at full speed.

_So close_.

_So far._

_So dead._

Morgenstern enters his line of sight, dropping his megaphone onto a guard’s waiting hands and going straight for Maryse. The guard holding her down manhandles her to her knees, forcing her head up.

Morgenstern looks at her, shakes his head and shoots her square in the chest without a word. The hit propels her back and Alec screams. _That’s his mum_ , no matter the hell she put him through. That’s his mum! And for one dreadful second, she’s dead and gone and dead and he feels so alone in that landing strip, so _helpless._ Then she stirs and her moan of pain drags him back to the surface. _Not dead, not dead. Not yet._

“Next one won’t go in your bulletproof vest Maryse,” Morgenstern says, pulling her up by the hair. “You fell hard, angel… _”_ he pushes her away, letting her fall to the ground, her head hitting the asphalt hard. Her breath is ragged and painful sounding -broken ribs do that to you, the shot was too fucking close, her bulletproof vest could only do so much. Morgenstern turns to Alec, bypassing Maia without a glance, eyes getting darker as he gets closer. “You.” he says it simply, without further accusation, but Alec already know what it’s about. Like Maryse, Morgenstern is assuming Alec is the one that killed his son.

He stops breathing. _Shit. Still better than the alternative_ . _God, Magnus..._

“Val…” Maryse groans from the ground. “Don’t. Your son...”

“ _Is dead!_ Killed by yours!” he roars. He’s upset. Of course he is, just as Alec was a second ago. You can love monsters, and be loved by them.

“... ours.”

A bullet hits the ground next to Alec’s head, debris flying to his cheeks, borrowing in. He screams. In pain. In fear. _So bloody close_. He doesn’t dare breathe or open his eyes, blood mixing with tears on his face. He can’t see what they’re doing and can’t fucking guess, adrenaline roaring in his veins.

_What did she say?_

When he gets brave enough to open an eye, gulping air like a drowning man he catches her face and the silence surrounding them: his mother has a devastated expression on her face, pleading to Morgenstern, her wild eyes going from _Val_ , his gun…

And Alec.

_No._

“That’s impossible, the paternity test was-”

_Don’t. Your son._

“Made by Luke. We were all so scared of you Val… I didn’t want you to know he was yours.”

_No._

“You’re lying!” But Morgenstern’s gun goes down several inches, no longer trained on Alec, his face a confused mess of emotions.

“I couldn't do that to Robert,” Maryse continues, breathless and begging, words pouring out of her, “he was so happy. And Jocelyn! She was my friend. To be the one to-”

“So you took him from me?!” Morgenstern shouts, anger redirected, feet carrying him back to her.

“You had your family, don’t make our son pay for my decision,” Maryse begs.

Alec never heard his mother beg in his entire life. Now she’s doing it like the world is ending.

“You bitch!” Morgenstern shouts, kicking her in the stomach. “You-” new kick “had-” new kick and Maryse chokes, curling up on herself, “no right!” a punch and Alec nearly dislocates his shoulder trying to break out of the hold of the guard on him.

“Stop!” Alec shouts, new tears on his face.

Miraculously, Morgenstern does, breathing heavily. His expression doesn’t really soften when his eyes find Alec’s. If anything they harden, the wildness in his eyes accentuating as he searches his face for -what? A resemblance? A proof Maryse lied? Or that she told the truth?

“Did you know?” he asks.

Alec is still processing his mother’s revelation, but he doesn’t have time to lose, not with a gun to his head a minute ago, Maryse unconscious at Morgenstern’s feet and, more importantly, Magnus _gone_.

“Luke… he hinted about it when,” Alec chokes on the words, spinning a tale in his voice, his face and the rest of him, “when he came to the cabin that one time. He told me about, uh, some bad blood between all of you, a-” he searches for the right word “a _favor_ , he said. To my mum. Is she,” his voice falters, for real, “alive?” he asks, heart a mess.

Morgenstern grunts, pushing Maryse around with his foot and she’s breathing, her chest going up and down slowly. Barely.

Alec lets out a cry of relief -surprised by how much he doesn’t have to fake it.

“That bastard!” Morgenstern snarls, “fucking me beyond the grave. Clary… and _you_ -” the rest of his rant swallowed by the deafening noise of a chopper, _just above them_ , like it just appeared _._

_What the hell? we would have heard it com_ \- except they wouldn’t have if... He looks up, like everyone else, gazing at the night sky, seeing nothing, but he laughs, God he laughs hysterically. _Luke. That beautiful bastard and his bloody secret chopper_.

Morgenstern gestures toward the remaining hangar against the wind and the guard holding Alec pushes him around but the rest isn’t quick enough, bullets raining down on them from the heavens.

Morgenstern takes one in the shoulder but pushes Alec’s captor in the way before the salvo tears through him, pinning him to the ground. Morgenstern forces a small door open, pushing Alec in and closing quickly in the time it takes whoever manning the gun in the chopper to reload. Bullets hit the metal door, punching holes through it, the light from outside flooding in like blood from a wound. It’s just a small storage space, just the door, crates on the sides and no other exit.

Heavy pants, grunts of pain, coming from Morgenstern. Adrenaline is making Alec reckless and he kicks the- _bastard- father- fuck you._ He can’t, he can’t, he feels on the edge of a panic attack, like dying and a thousand needles burrowing underneath his skin, deeper, deeper... he doesn’t hit him, coming too short, too weak, but Morgenstern chuckles, before forcing himself up. Outside, the chopper lands, cutting its engine. The following silence cuts at Alec’s ears, suddenly reminded that Maia and his mum are still out there…

“You’re cornered,” he breathes, holding on to his anger and the present threat like a lifeline. Prioritising. Compartimenting. He forces himself to hold his breath, teeth biting his inner cheeks hard.

“I’ve got you and idiots on the other side. Your brother, perhaps? He was in Balmoral with you... He won’t take the risk of hurting you, certainly not to get me.”

 

*

Magnus grunts as he’s projected against Clary on the backseat of the jeep. The guards in the front didn’t bother putting on their seatbelts and are taking every turn as sharply and as fast as they can. He shouts a string of insults at them but they don’t even react, too focused on the road.

Suddenly, the driver brakes like mad, but the jeep still bumps in a gate, like he expected for it to open and realised too late there was no power in this part of the base. Clary and Magnus hit the front seat -hard- and Magnus screams in pain. _Now my nose is definitely broken_. Blood rushes all over his mouth, down his chin and Clary throws him a look that is more disgust than concern.

It takes him a few seconds of staring at the gate, but Magnus recognizes it as one of the checkpoints he and Alec _visited_ earlier.

“Why isn’t it opening? Did you forget to turn on the remote passkey?” one guard growls at the other.

“No! It’s just not opening.”

They can still try. The Red Thief burned every circuit in the checkpoint post and it’s an automated gate. Either they turn back to Morgenstern or exist the jeep to try and manually open it, which would take time and tools. After a few minutes of angry back and forth between the two, they leave the jeep -locking its doors- to look for something to force open the gate or cut down a hole in the fences surrounding it.

He and Clary eye each other, calculating.

“You can get out of the cuffs?” she asks him, just above her breath.

“No. You?”

“Did it after he pushed me inside,” she says, wiggling one wrist out without difficulties. The other, unfortunately, is on her lap, looking way too thick and red.

_Oh right, she fell earlier. The tackling and the cuffs made it worse._

“You can’t drive with that. Can you free me?” glancing at the two arguing guards in front of the gate.

“Yeah, give me a sec,” Clary assures before producing a pin from thin air (Magnus, to his shame, can’t make sense out of it. _I’m putting that on the head trauma and broken nose_.) Once he’s freed -to the barest meaning of the word- Clary points to Magnus’ feet. “There’s a gun and some ammo stashed there, it’s standard.”

Magnus obliges and, as she assured, his hand meets with cold metal and scratch tape under the driver seat. “Daddy dearest filled you in on that one, I take?” he says, charging the gun without letting the guards of his sights. The cutting of the fences isn’t going very fast, and both are arguing, distracted.

“Not. My. _Dad_ ,” she says through gritted teeth. “Luke is. He’s… Did Alec-”

“Told me it was a con? Yup. Never been happier to have learnt morse in my life. You think I can get them through the windshield?”

“Depends on how good of a shot you-”

Magnus nods without looking at her, taking aim and fires, glass shattering, one of the goons dropping with a pained shout, before Magnus turns his weapon on the second one… but Magnus’ aim is off, and the bullet just hits his shoulder, and then he crumbles, joining his comrade on the ground, out of sights from Magnus’ position in the backseat.

“Shit.”

“Don’t sweat it and cover me,” Clary asks, slithering in between the seats, dropping in front of the wheel. She immediately sets on hot whirring the jeep and Magnus has to give her points for outstanding tenacity.

Keeping his attention on the windows and listening carefully, he He can hear ragged breathing slowly going around the car, the guard trying to get them unaware from the side.

“Okay now you better bring your ass here, I can’t drive with just one hand,” Clary whispers.

Magnus passes her the gun, pointing at the rear window and forces his way through the space between the seats and the car roof, plopping painfully on the dashboard, face first.

Clary fires the weapon before Magnus has his hands on the wheel, rear window shattering. “He’s not dead,” she shouts at Magnus.

He puts the jeep in reverse and jam his foot on the accelerator pedal. A shout, a bump. “ _He is now_ .” He turns the jeep around way too fast, before he stops and puts on his seatbelt. To his right, he can hear Clary fumbles with hers. “You’re ready?” _Good Fucking Shit_. He breathes in -way too hard, pain radiating from his throat to the rest of him, deep in his bones. He breathes out -and coughs, too sore and tired and frayed.

_Alexander, you better be alive, danger magnet._

Clary doesn’t answer, just passes him the gun to reload quickly. That’s clear enough for him. When he's done, he gives her back the gun and pushes the accelerator as far as it goes, eyes searching desperately for the bonfires that lit the landing strip.

_You’ll find him. You’ll find him. Alive. He always makes out of it alive. Always._

 

*

“Valentine!” shouts a woman’s voice that Alec doesn’t know, but going by Morgenstern’s reaction, it’s one he didn’t expect. He mouths a name: _Jocelyne._ Just her voice is enough to rattle his bones.

“You need to get out there with Lightwood. Your base is being seized by the Bolivian government as we speak, your accounts have been flagged and frozen. I won’t insult you and try to make you believe you have a fair trial waiting for you at home, but there’s no point in fighting, no way out.”

Morgenstern doesn’t answer, just shakes his head -and grunt in pain at the movement. “They can’t kill me. Know too much. Too useful, even now.”

“Then get out there and let me fucking go,” Alec snarls.

“Don’t worry, I’ve a limited use for you,” he says, before kicking the ground. It sinks, right under his foot and just a few inches, before falling entirely and Morgenstern puts his uninjured arm inside, searching, searching and there’s a discret _clank_ , something that probably isn’t heard outside. A panel slides behind Morgenstern, revealing more darkness.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alec mutters.

“Now now, I know it’s a bit cliché, but it works. You can stay here.” And he grabs Alec’s head, not knocking it on the wall like Alec expects, but to yank some hair loose, pocketing it. “But you’re not seeing Magnus ever again if you don’t follow,” he says with the easiness of someone that holds all the cards, that has already won despite the shortness of his breath. It’s not a choice and Morgenstern chuckles, eyes tracing Alec’s defeated features. “Atta boy,” he mock-praises, helping Alec up before pushing him into the dark…

 

*

Magnus barely slow downs when they reach back the landing strip: he recognizes Luke’s too-sleek chopper at once, its black frame well lit from all sides, landed where Morgenstern ambushed them not twenty minutes ago. Surrounding it are numerous bodies -Magnus doesn’t try to curb down the ferocious grin spreading on his face at the sight.

“Bloody 007,” he says, laughing with Clary. Of course, Maryse could have say something about backup… but that’s the way of the damn woman.

The whiplash is unforgiving when Magnus hazardously stops the car and stumbles out, ready to get Alexander back in his arms only to discover on the other side of the chopper Maryse and Maia knocked out, Jace looking somber, more dead goons and Jocelyn holding a megaphone -the one, if Magnus isn’t mistaken, that her ex-husband was using earlier to gloat- her attention on a door riddled with bullets.

_What the fuck. The elation he felt a few seconds ago, which get him going, dissipates and the cold wind passes right through him, freezing more than his body._

“Where’s Alec?” he croaks, at the same time Clary, who ran directly into Jace’s embrace, demands “Where’s dad?” The relief on Jace’s face is everything and Magnus has to turns away, hands folding in tight fists.

Jocelyn holds out a hand, a sharp call for silence. Magnus is so strongly reminded of Maryse that a familiar mutinous part of him shakes itself awake despite everything else going on and he has to push against it, as she’s not the enemy. But God he wants to destroy something.

“Valentine?” she asks through the megaphone. “Stalling won't get you anywhere. If anything, you’ll get arrested by the Bolivians instead of us.”

Whatever answer she expects, none comes and Magnus loses the rest of his patience and turns to Jace, “ _where’s your brother?!_ ” he repeats.

_Where’s the rest of the cavalry? That can’t be_ all _MI6 was willing to spare to shut down Valentine? Where the CIA backup Roberts gotta have? Where’s Luke?_

The blond sighs and points his chin to the door, wrapping his arms tighter around his wife.

“He took him?” the anger rises once more, an old friend by now.

“BANE! SHUT UP!” Jocelyn barks.

Maryse must feels challenged in her title of Bane #1 hater and stirs, coughing, taking painful sounding gulps of air. For once, Magnus sympathizes with her -he too feels at the end of his rope, every breath unraveling his sanity more and more.

Magnus pushes past Jocelyn, shoving her with a violence better suited to deal with her ex when she tries to get him to stop and throws the door wide open -not even fucking locked!- to reveal…

Nothing.

“Where is he?” he whispers to the empty room. “WHERE IS HE?”

The room is cramped, card boxes littering the small space like some angry kid threw a tantrum in a toy aisle.

“What the-” Jocelyn mutters behind him.

Magnus runs into the room, kicking at the cardboard boxes and when that doesn’t calm him enough, he throws one the shelves down. That too, isn’t enough.

“There’s no exit, I don’t…”

Magnus glares at her, but swallows back the harsh words on his tongue. Jace and Clary joins them in the small room, looking as confused. The room is getting stuffy, walls closing in and Magnus tries to leave, shit, he’s going to fucking lose it, when his foot trips on something and he stumbles face first in Jace’s arms.

“Easy now, you’re no use to him if you break something,” the blond says, not unkindly, but it still rubs Magnus the wrong way and he pushes against Jace’s torso, his attention turned to the weird crevice on the ground he can see how his feet cleared the floor around it.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” he snarls.

Clary lowers herself to her knees, one hand disappearing in the hole… there’s a faint noise and the farthest wall slides clear off, letting place to nothingness.

Jace pats Magnus on the shoulder, “that’s not what you think it is. Clary, you stay with my mum, Roberts and Magn-”

“I’m coming!” Magnus immediately hisses. Clary’s face betrays she feels the same but her wrist is busted and she knows it. But Magnus is absolutely ready to kill whoever stands between him and Alec.

“Out of the question, Alec will kill me if something happens to-”

“Something is ALWAYS happening to me!” he shouts back.

That, finally, shuts Jace right down and he huffs, before passing a gun to Magnus.

 

*

Morgenstern’s phone light is wobbly, and when Alec turns around, the man has a hand on the wall to steady himself. He’s getting weaker and weaker by every passing minute, blood a steady stream out of his shoulder bullet wound. The light is pointed at the ground but that doesn’t stop Alec to see other tunnels joining this one, so many possibilities of escape… He could run. He could knock Morgenstern off his feet if he tried, despite the man having a gun and Alec’s hands still tied behind his back. He _should_ run and -what? Never see Magnus again?

He grinds his teeth together. _Steady now. The worst that could happen would be Morgenstern dying here, letting Alec in the dark on Magnus'  location._

“Not far n-uggh.” Alec barely has time to look back to see Morgenstern stumbles against a wall, a strong arm around his waist, the gloved fist holding a knife somewhere in his captor’s right lung. The arm disappears, leaving Morgenstern to unceremoniously slide down the wall in a heap. There’s a gurgle, a pathetic sound coming from such a beast and Luke steps closer, knife in one hand, dripping, while the other reaches without hurry for Morgenstern’s gun.

The man doesn’t struggle, blood frothing at his mouth, surprise and hatred in his eyes. Luke didn’t stab him anywhere fatal -at least not immediately. All three know that, though Alec internally shouts at the delay. But still he just… collapses. His muscles and bones and nerves finally giving up, eyes riveted on the two older men, facing each other for the first time since… god, Alec doesn’t remember. He wants to fucking pass out. But the thought of Magnus and Clary lost somewhere keeps him awake.

“Where did you take him?” he snarls at Morgenstern’s face, urgent and desperate. He can’t lose him. Can’t lose Jace’s wife either. _Fucking speak!_

“W-” Morgenstern can’t even manage a full word now and Alec bloody cries, some of his anger redirecting to Luke.

“Why did-”

“Don’t worry, Magnus and Clary are fine, I saw them through my scope on the tarmac before coming down here,” he says, soothing. “You can breathe. They’re fine. He’s fine. And you’re too”

It takes several breaths for Alec to calm down and regain some control over his emotion, head dizzy, close to hyperventilation. When he’s able to focus on Luke’s voice again, 007 is speaking to Morgenstern.

“-still my brother,” Luke sounds sad and Alec can’t pick up a lie. Mercy, then. Not for Morgenstern, but for himself. For Jocelyn. For Clary. _For me?_ The assurance it’s over. “We don’t need more mess or daring escapes because M and someone else wants intel out of you.”

Morgenstern tries to speak again but nothing but blood spurts out of his mouth.

_Good_.

“Alec, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take the blame for that. M won’t be too keen on me X’ing out her prize,” Luke says, sparing an apologizing glance to Alec.

He nods -barely. He understands, he can plead dire circumstances.

Luke’s attention comes back to Morgenstern and Alec’s looks away, the pain on Luke’s face too much even for him. “You’ve been my ghost for so long… I forgot how it is to breathe without feeling your hands around my throat.”

A second passes -longer than that?- and Luke’s behind Alec uncuffing him and giving him the knife.

“You’ll be okay, they’ll figure out the tunnels soon. I need to go back to my alibi,” he says, patting Alec’s on the shoulder quickly.

“What about-” Alec’s starts, turning to Morgenstern, but the man’s gone; eyes blank, face slack. It’s a good look on him and Alec allows himself a smile, the sick satisfaction rolling over him in powerfull waves. Faintly (perhaps more in his head than anywhere else) he hears Luke leave.

Alec doesn’t fight the weightlessness this time, and let the overwhelming relief drags him down to unconsciousness.

 

*

Magnus hates everything about the tunnel. _Tunnels_ , because there is an entire network buried under the base and Magnus’ blood pressure is through the roof. The ceiling is low, the walls are so close… nothing to help his breathing. It’s been a few minutes of tense silence, which grew deadly when they began to spot drops of blood in the ground.

Jace is leading the way, gun trained on the ground, the faintest light pointed there to follow the footsteps and blood in the dirt, only gesturing a turn with his hand. Then there’s Jocelyn, her gun pointed at chest level in the dark in front of them and walking as close to her son-in-law as possible in the narrow tunnel. Closing their little troop is Magnus, holding a much smaller gun, eyes neither on the ground in the dark, but seeing Alec’s corpse through his mind’s eye. Or nothing, just an empty maze going on for miles and miles and miles, until Magnus is left with one more ghost.

“What the…”

The fear in Jace’s voice is enough to freeze Magnus’ blood and he sees legs on the ground, and more blood in the dirt, and for a second… he’s in the dark. True, absolute dark. Back in the suite, Verlac sitting on his chest. Back in his chair in the Handlers’ floor, spectating -bloody fucking shit, why is he always seeing this?- Seoul and all the others.

“Jace don’t fucking shoot!” comes in a rush, Alexander’s exhausted, half asleep voice washing over Magnus like clear water on a wound. The relief so good his knees gives out for a second, recovering at the last moment, when Jace’s light hits Morgenstern before shifting to Alexander’s bruised and bloody face.

Jace shouts, quickly pushing Morgenstern’s body out of the way, dismissing it as soon as he can, falling on his knees to check on his brother. Jocelyn should take point, but contrary to Jace, it’s not just a corpse to her. Magnus leaves her to her complicated set of emotions and gets closer to Alec before he calls his name.

“Alexander?” he can scarcely believe it.

Alec’s face snaps up from where it was buried in Jace’s neck, eyes as round as dinner plates “Ma- holy fucking shit you’re- okay. You’re okay.”

“I am now,” he says, nodding while not so carefully sitting down, putting a hand on Alec’s uninjured cheek. The other is poked with little pieces of asphalt and both are streaked with tears. “We really should stop meeting like this.”

“Agreed,” Alec whispers, putting his head on Magnus’s shoulder.

  
  
  
  


“Hey, you guys know you can’t nap here right?” Magnus distantly hears Jace says. “... I hate you both.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from We have all the time in the world by Louis Armstrong  
> Thank you for reading!  
> Kudos and comments show appreciation <3
> 
> You can come say hi on my [tumblr](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/) and check for updates on my [fic tag](http://theleftboobgrabber.tumblr.com/tagged/spy!malec)


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here we are, it's been a long ride <3

*****

A week later, skin still bruised and bodies still aching, they found themselves in Magnus’ half empty London loft. Izzy left hours ago and despite the cold, Alec and Magnus finds themself on the balcony, wrapped in thick coats. They gravitated around the box all afternoon without getting a glimpse of its content, both in tune, both feeling it was time.  _ Tonight is as good as any,  _ Magnus said earlier. And so they carried the box outside and put it close to the railing.

Tonight is the night that they throw the snowglobes away.

One. 

By.

Bloody.

One.

Sad and smiling and crying, hugging and remembering. Together.

  
  


Rome goes first. They kiss, like they should have. Light. Then hard. And on the tip of the nose, because they can, and they’re alive and in love. Alexander drops it over the balustrade, waiting for the glass to shatter with his mouth open, the white puff of his breath catching the streetlamp light down below. The snow globe breaks. They kiss again, like they always will, Magnus bets his life on it.

  
  


The Manneken Pis goes next. He singsongs La Vie En Rose until the globe hits the ground, until Alexander cries from laughing too much.

  
  


At the Brandenburg Gate one, Alec gets a little emotional and downs his sparkling apple juice glass, the closest they can get to champagne (they still don’t drink alcohol and right there, this knee jerk reaction to drowning in numbness, that’s why). Magnus mutters, “she’s truly a bitch,” talking about M and her bloody loyalty tests -crazy to think they’re free of them.

  
  


The Las Vegas one, Magnus wiggles his eyebrows seductively and bites Alexander’s ear. And then he laughs, because his lover really had a knack to end up hogtied in car trunks. Alexander promises it won’t happen again. 

  
  


Some others are dropped down easily, without too much trouble. Magnus frowns at a few, unsure of the places they depict, or which time Alexander went there. So many places, so much blood. Alexander frowns too. Like he’s surprised at the number of souvenirs, or because he survived -keeps on surviving- so many of them. Húsavík, Paris, Cairo and many more, gone in a blink and shattering ten floors down.

  
  


_ Praha _ is already broken. But it’s satisfying to hear the remnant of it hit the ground. Mechanically, Magnus fingers the Red Thief on his hand. Alexander holds him tighter, kissing his forehead and whispering “not your fault.”

  
  


They take a break. Magnus serves them another glass and they talk for a while: of their flat sales, the vacations they’re taking as soon as Alexander talks to his mother, of their friends and family. Holding hands on the balcony, like normal people. Normal, happy people. They really are. But they’re stalling, both knowing it and are a bit scared.

Alexander, brave as ever, gets up from his chair and picks up the Seoul snowglobe like one would a bomb. Slowly.

Slowly.

Slower still.

It is a bomb after all. Or was. The truth of it. In Magnus’ head at least.

It’s heavier than it looks, weighed down by fear, torture and guilt. Magnus told him months ago that Camille was behind it. That Verlac executed her vision. That he blames himself. It was a long night. A necessary evil, one that made them stronger.

Magnus gets up too, a bit unsteady. He wraps his arms around Alexander from behind. Suddenly, the former spy giggles and Magnus nudges him with his nose, wanting to know why.

“Sparkly purple dildo,” he breathes.

Magnus collapses against him, the very image making him choke.  _ Jesus. _

Laughing like two drunks, Alexander throws the snowglobe as far as he can. Something shatters -something way bigger than a snowglobe. A second later a car alarm screams accusingly in the night. They laugh harder, ending up on the floor, giggling and kissing and holding on to the other.

Alexander’s cheeks are wet and Magnus kisses the tears.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

  
  


The Cabo one gets an eyeroll. The one Alec didn’t give him, the one he kinda stole anyway. Magnus drops it down without ceremony. “Fucking interns,” are his final words on it.

  
  


Then it’s the second to last one. Balmoral. They don’t technically have it. It’s somewhere lost in Bolivia, probably destroyed. The memory it held already fought against and the battle won. Magnus spits down for good measure. That’s all Camille and Verlac deserve anyway.

  
  


The last one. God. Two and half a years. Coming to this small snowglobe of something that neither Magnus nor Alexander can recognize. Some MI6 grunt delivered it to them when they were waiting at El Alto airport after being debriefed by Maryse and some CIA hot head. It looks like some important building. It’ll do.

“Alexander,” Magnus begins, then huffs, stopping. He puts the snowglobe on the balustrade and looks away.

“What?”

“This is the beginning,  _ not the end _ .” He hates how needy he sounds. How even now reassurances are needed.

“Beginnings are easy.”

“Really? How so?” he feels like Alexander is making fun of him. But that’s just his father talking in his head. Only a mutering now, but still in there. A habit harder to break than a simple snowglobe.

“It goes like this,” Alexander says, before taking Magnus’ cheeks in his hands, thumb caressing his lips.

His breath quickens, the hazel eyes too much to handle, yet impossible to look away from.

“And then,” Alexander whispers, kissing his forehead. He smiles down at Magnus, his lips getting closer to Magnus’.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slower still.

It is a bomb after all. Will always be. The truth in it. The love it carries from one to the other. Blowing Magnus’ mind each time. 

After a while, the kiss turns dirty, a nip there, a hand wandering under layers of clothing and delicious friction… Magnus ends up against the balustrade, oh so ready to go inside, to the half empty rooms and storage boxes that will be picked up later tomorrow, to the bed left for the packers to take away in the morning and Alexander’s naked arms...

Something shatters ten floors down.

They hardly pay attention to it.

 

*****

As soon as Magnus enters the Q dep, he’s _assaulted_.

“Magnus! Good to see you buddy. Buuuut, where’s the boyfriend? Man, I can’t believe you made that awkward turtle come out of his shell and-”

Magnus stops listening to Simon before he throws him down the elevator shaft (he can’t ignore the huge slurps that come from his left and glances in that direction though, regretting it instantly. No one needs to witness Simon Lewis, king of the nerd Archivists, drinking an unicorn frappuccino through a straw with the intensity some would reserve to going down on a lover). 

Fucking hell. He knew he should have invited his people to come to his loft; it might be near empty at the moment, but at least Magnus could have  _ forgot  _ to invite Simon. But they were all working today and it wasn’t like M to hand out vacation day out of nowhere, even for him. Even after all he went through.

“You know, I liked it better when you weren’t dating him,” he says to Raphael, when the younger man throws himself at him without a hello, engulfing him in a vice-like hug. “But bloody hell, it’s,” shit, he’s getting emotional, “uh, good to see you too tiny one.”

But instead of the sharp answer he was angling for in joking about Rafa’s heigh, the Q junior only sniffles weakly and holds him harder, coming close to breaking ribs that Magnus can’t spare. Sometimes Magnus forget Rafa isn’t the gangly kid that used to spend all his time with his nose down in a book or building crazy shit with Izzy on the training field. 

And it’s  _ good _ to see him. To hold him. To not be dead or kidnapped and be able to whatever he felt like. Simply put, to be safe and free. Boy, is he glad he didn’t put any eye make up today, the result would have been… unfortunate. Magnus Bane, the man with the plan. Rafa will have to forgive him for crying on his favourite bomber (he won’t, he takes fashion as seriously as Magnus, not like a special someone walking around the upper levels in  _ bloody flip-flops _ ).

As much as he love Alexander, he needed to see his friends -his family- before taking off. It’s been a frightfully long week of adorably hostile interrogations, that turned into terse debriefs once Magnus and Alec proved they were held against their will by Morgenstern  _ et al  _ and not traitors to the crown. The whole thing was like being kidnapped again, down to not knowing where he was or if he would ever be free of handcuffs. But the hardest thing was seeing no one that wasn’t M-approved for that week and the damn woman doesn't approve of anyone (she barely (she skyped him, tho. Magnus rolled his eyes a lot, feeling the ghost of her cane on his leg each time). 

Just a week of doctors and MI6 interrogation specialists… not even some Alexander time to continue the glorious post-abduction napping and sobbing extravaganza they started in the tunnels. No. Instead, they only got reunited the day before, Izzy and Jace staying with them for some time before she kissed their foreheads and he hugged them, having other obligations. Again, state secrets and security were more important than anything else, including the mental health of anyone working for it. It took and it took and it took. If they weren’t careful, it would never stop. The only personal business he had been authorized to conduct -on the last day- had been booking up movers so his most valuable belongings would be safe while he and Alexander went as far away from England as possible (Alec had sold his own apartment before leaving for Luke’s cabin and was technically homeless at the moment).

As for loose ends, Alec was cutting them right now in his mother’s office, because Morgenstern might have been a manipulative bitch -and that past tense is glorious- but everyone knows the truth hurts more than lies sometimes... Luckily for Magnus, his own visit didn’t involved anything stressful, just teary hugs and seeing his friends in a month or so, when he and Alexander would have worked on learning to breathe again.

“I can’t believe you got yourself kidnapped again,” Rafa mutters after reluctantly letting go of Magnus to let Catarina have her turn.

She immediately  _ pinches _ his side, hard. Magnus is so glad to see her he doesn't mind much and just grab at her, taking her off her feet.

“I should put a tracker  _ in _ you, just to be sure,” she says and Magnus laughs. She might be onto something. 

The hug is brief but she’s shivering like a leaf when he puts her down. It's an improvement from the first time Morgenstern held him in Balmoral. She was so worried about him she wouldn't leave him out of her sight for a week. Magnus was so fucking grateful he didn’t mind. 

She steps aside, wiping down her cheeks. “You sure about this? You could still- no. I’m being selfish.”

“Oh, Cat. No you’re not. I love you too. But I haven’t had the chance to decide what I wanted to do with my life in… well, since forever actually. Or to go on a real vacation in years.”

“And who’s fault is that? Aaaah yes,  _ yours _ , lover boy and yours,” Rafa says, disdainfully. “Ragnor said to pat you manfully on the shoulder, by the way.”

_ Ah yes. Ragnor is downstairs along with Tessa, on a 24/7 assignment doing M knows what and that mean no- _ “Shit!” Magnus shouts, stepping away from Rafa and the fucking hard punch he just gave him on his bicep.

“He said it had to come from the heart,” the bastard deadpans.

“Oh sod off,” Magnus grunts, massaging his arm. “You’re on my shit list now, Santiago.”

“You guys are so cute!” Simon actually  _ d’aww _ at them. The fact that someone like Rafa can support him is a exploit of some sort.

Behind him, the elevator opens, and Rafa, Cat and Simon’s faces blanches (Simon actually hides his unicorn drink behind his back like a guilty child).

Magnus frowns and turns around, curious of who put such a rea-

“M,” he breathes.

“Magnus,” she nods, before looking at the rest of them, “good morning Mr. Santiago, Ms Fell and, ah, Mr. Lewis. Could you please let me have a moment with Mr. Bane?”

_ Magnus?  _ She never, ever call him by his first name. Or being polite with subordinates. 

His friends scramble out quickly, taking the elevator and throwing some weirded out look at Magnus. Simon finger guns at him, probably trying to be supportive.

“I’m… glad you’re well,” she says after a minute of looking at Magnus.

In that minute, Magnus’ heart rate got a little too much, like he’s been running (which he considered doing). He also got exceptionally angry.

First name? Politeness? Expression of concern for  _ his health _ ? She’s either an alien doppelganger or she’s angling for something. And since aliens would probably hold off any kind of invasion until after she dies -she’s that scary- the old bat wants something from him.

“No,” he answers.

“No what?”

“No.” If she insists on cornering him to talk instead of getting hugged by his friends, he’ll give her a good run for her money.

She sighs, looking bored, but the way she grips her cane tells a different story. “In all my years I rarely seen such an ungrateful pup.”

“Well, I always was exceptional, kind of you to finally notice it,” and he gives her his most saccharine smiles, rounding her to get to the-  _ aaaand here’s the cane. Of course.  _ She blocks his ways with her cane, just a second, just enough to make her point. It looks like a second without it is the maximum she can go.  _ How the mighty have fallen. _

“You  _ are _ exceptional. You’re also a pig-headed hedonist with a loose graps on what disciple and orders mean. And, the last time I checked, still under an airtight contract with MI6 for at least 20 more years.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. They already talked about this over skype. He’s tired. Of her. Of being her pet. Of the entire building and agency and being their prisoner. 

“ _ No _ ,” he repeats. “At this point, I rather be tried for my parents’ murder.” He’s… actually he doesn’t know if he’s bluffing. Two weeks looking into the barrel of a gun and escaping certain death doesn’t make for rational thoughts. But he can’t spend the next 20 years into a basement, watching and listening to good people die. The last decade was hard enough.

For the first time, she looks conflicted, and Magnus gets a look at the woman Jace garanties is hiding under all the MI6 regulation books she’s surely made off.

“Prison wouldn’t agree with you, Bane.”

“Try me,” he says, walking to the elevator. Amazingly, she doesn’t call for any unlucky bastards hidden in the ceiling to capture him or something. She lets him go. Finally. 

At the last moment possible, she turns around, and Magnus must be dreaming because he spy a hint of smile on her face.

 

*****

Alec wanted to stay in bed this morning. With Magnus. And sleep. And buttery croissants that Magnus has no shame to have delivered to his door.

But he also need to talk to his mother. People he knows nods to him as he crosses the atrium, some going to talk, before seeing what he’s wearing. 

Flip-flops.

He’s wearing flip-flops in the sanctum of the British Secret Services.

(When Magnus told him to get comfy for the flight they’ll be catching after, he most certainly did not expect of this level of casual. Again, Magnus’ idea of dressing casual is Just Cavalli’s entire men runway. So.)

They frown, looking at his feet, and he’s free to walk past them without interference. It’s… too soon for small talk.  _ But apparently not for this… _

He is getting through his third pep talk when he gets to his mother office.

Her assistant is at his desk, standing up about he doesn’t have time to open his mouth that Alec tells him to  _ sit down _ and opens the door without knocking.

"Did you kill Jace's father?" Alec asks bluntly as soon as the door is closed, immediately reminded of the last conversation he had here with his mother. It had been been a cathartic moment, even if his accusations had been little more than jab in the dark. Now though… well. Her deeds are exposed in harsh light. The office hasn’t changed and she hasn’t either, stone cold face and strict dress -gone are the tac gear and the assault rifle. The only traces of Bolivia are the bruises maring her face, a still swollen nose and the chest brace visible under her vest. 

Maryse goes rigid, color draining from her face at his words. To think he ever thought her the best liar in the world. Guess that her composure isn’t much when asked the right questions.

"What an outlandish notion, Stephen was a good friend of-" she tries, a tremor overcoming her hand, a perfect eyebrow twitching too high.  _ Devil’s in the details. _

"Just answer the damn question!" he orders.

"Well then," she fidgets with the front of her dress, something that Izzy does too when she’s nervous over something, before sitting on her office chair, minding her ribs. "I didn't kill him. Valentine pulled the trigger but-" she stops, eyes far away, apparently lost for a moment. " _ I was there _ . Val was losing it, quite spectacularly, about Luke and Jocelyn being so close... he was looking for traitors everywhere. Stephen was devoted to him but Val got suspicious because of who his mother was. One minute I was trying to calm them down, the next I was holding Stephen's wife down as she screamed and screamed…” her face turns to stone. “She killed herself later that week. Be happy your father and I were the ones to find her and the baby because Jace would have turned out like that Verlac, a nice carbon copy of Val’s ideal of terror."

Alec’s lost in the horrifying line of thoughts for a second or two, before pulling out of it and red taping it in a corner of his head. Nevertheless, it’s funny in the most disgusting way that Morgenstern and his Mum hated each other so much, judging the parenting style of the other despite being mostly the same.

"How come you of all people got to raise him? Herondale despises you." he never asked when he was little. Oh he wondered, but asking about something that hadn’t been disclosed yet was, well, not encouraged in the Lightwood household.

"It was in Stephen's testament and M can barely look at Jace without going catatonic either way,” Maryse mocks, daring to roll her eyes.

Alec shakes his head. Typical. 

"You don't sound ashamed of what you did." It’s something he’s been mulling over since Balmoral and Morgenstern’s revelation of his parents’ allegiance to him. She raised him -Jace, Izzy and Max too- to think of MI6 first, England second and themselves far down a long list. But obviously, she thought herself above that at some point. And all this time she knew, pushing them to join so she could pay back her dues. Even Jace, who only dreamt of flying, who only wanted to fit in, to be a Lightwood… how fucked up was it, to manipulate an orphan, lure him away from what he wanted with promises of justice for his birth parents when she bloody knew the truth all along. Her hands were as red as Morgenstern’s as far as Alec was concerned.

"I believed he was right. What he did to Stephen and the rest made me reconsider. After that, it was just a question of survival.  _ For all of us _ ," she says, looking him intently in the eyes, trying to convey what a perfect mother she is, killing and betraying people to save her skin. Like it holds any weight on Alec.

_ Oh God, it did. I used to respond to it as any trained dog _ . But he’s better, and he can barely hold in a scoff.  _ That's rich _ . Some of his disdain must have showed, because she continues.

"Hate me all you want, Alec. Everything you are, everything you accomplished you have me to thank for." She dares use her softer voice. Her ‘ _ I’m proud of you son _ ’ intonation -doled out with strict parsimony when he was a kid. Apparently she’s still under the impression he craves it.

"I’m not an extension of you, Maryse,” he says, disgusted. “I am who I am despite you and Robert. The same goes for Iz, Jace and Max."

She looks stricken for a moment, almost human, before her face shuts off, the woman swallowed whole by expressionless stone. “Speaking of which. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you since last week and, well. You might not think much of your father, but  _ he is your father _ . I only said what I said to make Valentine spare your life.”

That actually makes Alec breathe a little easier. He didn’t have any mental energy to spare over her claiming he was Morgenstern’s biological son, not after everything he went through, but still. One less thing to lose sleep over.

“Thank you,” he says curtly, her small offering of truth not erasing anything else.

"Very well. I believe you know where the door is," she tells him, looking down at files, dismissing him like a hundred times before.

"You should make sure to know where it is too. I heard Antonia Branwell from the Council is talking about setting her niece in your chair..." he grins at her when she raises her head, eyes wides and concerned, and he closes the door softly behind him, glad that it will be the last time he ever sets foot here (and nevermind he thought the same thing before heading for Luke’s cabin).

"How unpleasant was it?" Magnus asks, rushing to his side. The sight of him is enough to make Alec's heart go crazy and this time his grin is genuine.

"Off the charts,” he still answers, accepting the hug Magnus gives him gladly, all warmth and strength. "But I'm finally free. I’ll… have to talk to Jace after that, though. You saw your friends?”

“Oh yes, and them some. But I made my feeling quite clear to the woman upstairs,” Magnus answers easily, even if there’s some tension around his eyes. Uh… Magnus hadn't tell him he was planning on speaking to with M today, but they'll have time to talk about it later.

“Are we ready to go?"

"Yup, the jet is waiting for your illegally cute arse as we speak," Magnus says deviously.

"And I still can't know where we're going?"

"Nope," he pops the word, dragging Alec toward the elevator by the hand.

“Babe, there are countries where it’s not just my arse who’s illegal. Traveling is going to be a bitch,” Alec apologizes.

He dramatically gasp. “Oh my God! You being a spy completely slipped off my mind.” He looks shocked for a second, before cracking up and kisses Alec on the cheek. “Fear not, I planned accordingly.”

They leaves the SIS building too engrossed in each other to look at it one last time. It’s ugly anyway.

 

*

Alec wakes up with a start, feeling cold. Instinctively, he searches for the other side of the bed but finds it empty and colder than he is.  _ Right. _ Alec sighs and shakes his head, before passing a hand in his sweaty hair. He should know better by now, but the nightmare is a good excuse.

Balmoral.

It's been years since he, Jace and Luke went there to rescue Magnus but he still dreams of finding nothing but a body in that lab. Magnus being gone just brought it back to the surface, the fear persevering even if he knows that Magnus is alright, that they got him in time.

Before he can decide on going back to sleep or giving up on him entirely, there's a knock on the bedroom door, shy but insistent.

"You can come in," he says.

Madzie opens the door, her small frame softly highlighted by that glowing nightlight sword Izzy made for her. She’s clutching her Moana plushie like a lifeline and her cheeks are wet. Alec’s heart sizes at the sight, muscles tightening, instincts begging him to wreck anything that hurted her.

"I had a nightmare," she says.

Even after all this time, Alec can detect the hint of shame in his little girl's voice, the training Morgenstern put her through still influencing her, poisoning her childhood. But she's better. A few years back, when she first came to live with him and Magnus, she would have deny any tears and suffered in silence in her room, hidden under the blankets. Alec couldn't count the number of times Magnus at looked sadly between the two of them,  _ you're the same _ written all over his face.

Alec pushes back his blankets and gets up, picking Madzie easily still despite her being nearly eight now. She immediately winds her arms around his neck and hides her face. 

"It's okay Madzie-bee. I had a nightmare too," he says. It never fails to calm her down a little when he reminds her that she’s not the only one plagued by nightmares and that, if Alec isn't ashamed, then she has no reason to be either. Magnus had explained to her he had nightmares too and she had stared at him like she couldn't believe that people so grown up could get scared too and  _ admit it _ .

"When is Papa coming back?" she asks, voice muffled by her plushie.

_ Ah. The one million pound question. The one I can’t answer. _

"I don't know Madzie," he says truthfully. "You guys can skype tomorrow, I'm sure." he doesn't want to promise anything else though.

"I miss him Daddy," she sobs.

"Yeah, me too," he whispers back, hugging his daughter closer to him. "What do you say about pancakes?" He tries to ignore the ticking inside his head, the one that counts out the days without his husband like seconds to a detonation. The anger is harder to push back though.

"With the-" she sniffs, "the choco chips?"

"You bet," he gives her a broad smile. He can’t give her her other father but he sure as hell can make some feel-better pancakes.

 

Even after quitting MI6 for good, Magnus had chose to keep his second name, letting most of the world believe that Charles Pemberly Jr was still missing or living in a palace somewhere, he didn’t care.  _ Everyone I care about and who cares about me knows. I don’t need the rest _ .. His inheritance was still waiting for him and he made good use of it, living from island to island to lost cottage -warm, soft places that didn’t have the mind to kill Alec at every turn. A solid year abroad, perfecting tans and staying out of trouble and out of the way.

It hadn’t been easy every day, but his psychologist was just a skype call away. Sometimes Alec got trapped inside his head, only able to feel the collection of cracks on and underneath his skin. A broken toy soldier, good for the trash so it wouldn’t hurt people around him. But they talked. God, they talked so much. Him and his psychologist. Him and Magnus. Sometimes just himself, reassuring himself, battling the meaninest, ugliest part of his brain. And it payed off; forcing all the bad to the surface, cleaning out the blood, stitching the wounds and cutting what couldn’t be saved. Still a work in progress, for the both of them. 

Magnus’ careful plan of endless destinations finally came to a stop when Izzy called them about Madzie. The girl was one of a few kids from Morgenstern’s operation that didn't have anyone left. Putting her for adoption the regular way could get hazardous with everything she had already gone through... and the other option wasn’t acceptable.

Adopting her had not been that complicated. They just had to get married, which was more than a formality at that point. Madzie Rouse had became Madzie Lightwood-Bane, the way smoothed by favors owned by too many people to count (the fact that Magnus was sickenly rich didn’t hurt either). A promising future for all three of them.

And now Alec was making pancakes at 3 am,  _ alone, _ with his daughter. 

Madzie is perched on the counter watching Alec mix the ingredients with her usual curiosity and he knows by experience she’s absorbing everything. Magnus was the one to deal with the cooking but, obviously, it isn’t an option… Alec just hopes Madzie won’t be too disappointed with the pancakes he is making.

“You want to talk about your nightmare, Madzie-bee?” he asks as he breaks the eggs.

Madzie doesn’t answer immediately but Alec sees the way she hugs her plushie tighter. He breaks an egg too hard and shell pieces end up in the mixing bowl. He swears under his breath and tries to retrieve them, while keeping most of his attention on Madzie.

“I dream I was back at the  _ orphanage _ ,” she said, enunciating the word carefully, like she’s forcing the word out of her mind. “And that you and Papa didn’t want me.”

_ Ah. Fuck it. _

The orphanage was the place the MI6 and the CIA had place the kids from Morgenstern’s training camp while they tried to find their families and gave them psych evals and care. Alec and Magnus had took her out as soon as they legally could, since Luke had heard rumors that M and her american counterparts were hounding for ‘new talents’ among the remaining kids. Funny how hard those asshole had fighted against Morgenstern, only to gleefully use the same methode, picking among his leftovers, throwing around bullshit words like  _ debts, talents  _ and  _ duty _ . Words that Magnus had drilled into him by M right after his parents’ funerals.

“But we want you, little bee,” he says, abandoning the bowl to hug her.

“Even Papa?” she asks.

The question tears Alec apart. “He loves you so much, just like me.” Shit… he really needs to talk to Magnus, this situation has gone on far too long and  _ it’s hurting their kid now _ .

Madzie doesn’t look convinced but Alec can’t think of anything reassuring to say, so he just hugs her tighter, rocking her smoothly.

They end up watching Moana in the den, bundled up in blankets, eating pancakes and ice cream. It in’t a cure-all though, and Alec quickly fires a text to Magnus, telling him to call in the morning. They needed to talk. 

Magnus opens the door of the penthouse slowly, unwilling to wake up Alec or Madzie. That, and the fact that he feels like he’s intruding in his own home.

_ Preposterous. _

And yet, Magnus walks to the kitchen soundlessly after putting his bag next to the door. There, he‘s greeted with the remainder of pancakes batter in a huge bowl -choco-chips, Madzie’s favorite. He shakes his head at the mess in the sink, before he puts the bowl in the fridge, stopping dead in his tracks as he spots a new picture under the DANGER MAGNET he 3D printed for Alexander as a gag gift last christmas.

Madzie’s in a purple dress, a little golden bow in her hair, being hugged by Isabelle and Max. He frowns. _Ah, yes._ _Simon and Raphael’s engagement party. I missed it._ Oh, Alexander had sent numerous pictures, and so did Izzy, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the only new thing though. The living room is missing an end table (Alexander had broke it, he said) and someone has abandoned a pair of hot pink roller skates near the bay window (which Alexander had suspiciously omitted he caved in and bought for Madzie).

It feels weird. Magnus has been dreading this for three months, wild scenario after another.  _ You’re not irreplaceable _ , a tiny voice whispers, _ they barely noticed you’re gone _ . 

_ Go to hell, _ he thinks loudly, rolling his eyes at the insecurity still plaguing him from time to time.

He finds them sleeping together in the den, rolled up like burritos, stains of chocolate and ice cream on the blankets, the menu from the Moana dvd still playing softly on the TV.  _ God, I missed you so much _ . He has to fight happy tears but he loses, heart seizing at the sight of them both.

Carefully, he steps around the couch and sits on the arm, eyes locked on his husband and kid, too happy for words. Slowly, he puts his fingers through Alexander’s hair, carding it out of his face so he can kiss his forehead. And his nose. And his lips.

“Hey you,” he whispers.

“Ma’us,” is all his sleeping husband mumbles back. 

“Alexander,” he calls again, kissing the shell of his ear.

That does it, Alexander stumbling out of sleep, eyes blinking, slowly focusing on Magnus’ face, a broad, confused smile on his face. “You’re here?”

“Unless I’m a dream, yes. And I have to say, what amazing dream you-”

Alexander is on him in a second, kissing him for dear life, big hands pushing at the blanket at the same time to free himself, arms wrapping around Magnus.

_ Home, finally. _

“You’re going- to- tooo kill me- snogging me like- this,” he pants in between kisses.

"It's snogging, it's not supposed to have restraint."

"Oxygen is still necessary for kissing, you scoundrel."

"You and your science can't stop me," Alec answers, snuggling harder against Magnus' neck. He can hardly believe he survived three months without touching him, without breathing him.

"Death from snogging, chisel that down on my tombstone... but I'm still not sold darling. I rather live long and kiss you with moderation," he says as seriously as he can. 

Alec has the audacity to laugh at his face.

"Yeah right," he says before kissing Magnus  _ hard _ , three months of pent up need ravaging the two of them.

They kiss for a long time, before the position becomes somewhat uncomfortable. Alexander drags Magnus on his lap, both lost in each other, before the heat recides and they just hugs each other. Magnus looks at his still sleeping daughter. How could she sleep through the reunion is beyond Magnus’ understanding, but when she sleeps, it’s like a stone sinking at the bottom of the ocean.

“God look at her.” He missed her. Her quick laugh and sharp eyes, the little frown she has when she’s thinking her way through a new discovery. He stole one or three of her tiny bows when he left, keeping them in his pocket, only taking them when he felt too low.  _ My little bee. _

“She missed you. So did I.” 

He frowns, not sure if the note of rebuke he hears is from Alexander or his own guilty conscience. He doesn’t have time to answer, Alec immediately asks, “ _ how _ are you here?”

“I got your text last night.” Magnus sighs. “It just… it was hard before. But it broke me. I barged into Herondale’s office and gave her the finger.” He chances a look at Alexander, and the other man’s eyes are positively round. “Then I got back to my hotel and packed. Got the first flight back.”

“But she-”

“I don’t care how much she threatens me the next time she needs a hacker. I don’t care,” he assures, meaning it. The old witch can deal with her messes herself. “No more favors.”

Oh, how cleverly she had tricked him in going back to work for her. Before Magnus realised she had lied about the connection between Lilith’s (and his father) murder and the people the MI6 were investigating, a month had flied by and he was shackled to M with signed papers and a mess he couldn’t leave behind in good conscience.

That had been two months ago. But he was done… it wasn’t on him to solve all the problems in the world.

“I’m home and I’m staying,” he whispers against Alexander’s lips, knocking their foreheads together.

“Papa?!” the shriek startles the both of them, heads turning to the bundle of blankets that only reveals her overjoyed face. “PAPA YOU’RE HERE!”

Magnus just flops on her, hugging her hard and they both fall from the couch but he doesn’t care about his back, too busy kissing her curls and her cheeks.

_ My little girl. _

“How are you Madzie-bee?”

“I missed youuu!”

“Yeah, I missed you so much. Both of you.”

Alexander joined them on the carpet, like a giant octopus, hugging them for dear life.

“I’ll eat you up I love you so!” his husband belows, taking fake bits of both Madzie and Magnus.

“NO DADDY YOU MADE PANCAKES!” she shouts after Alexander begins to tickle her and she untangles herself from the hug and dashes out of the den.

Magnus giggles.

“Good to know I rank just below choco-chips pancakes,” he says, already missing her.

“Also under Simon.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“He took her to a plushie hospital. She’s smitten.” He sounds as annoyed as Magnus feels.

Magnus feigns a morfull sound. “At least you love me still, right?”

“About that… Raphael and I are running away together.”

“My husband and my best friend? How could I not see this?!”

There’s a crashing sound coming from the kitchen, something like a frying pan hitting the floor, and a suspicious silence after it and Alexander rises to his elbows and calls, “you better not be eating batter from the bowl!”

“‘m not!” 

“Oh, she’s doing it,” Magnus shakes his head, getting up and helping Alexander up. They’re suddenly standing very close and his breath catches.

They kiss, briefly. Too brief for his taste, so he reels Alexander back in his arms, and snogs him proper, before slapping his arse. “Let’s go pacify that little hellion before she makes herself sick.”

Alexander nods, forehead to forehead, stealing a peck. “You’re home.”

“I’m home.”

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you loved it, kudos and comments are ALWAYS a good way to show it, or consider buying me a [coffee](http://ko-fi.com/theleftboobgrabber/)!
> 
> Feedback is love ❤


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